


Duel of the Fates

by xdarksistahx



Series: Duel of the Fates [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Dark!Jon, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Hate Sex, Jedi!Dany, Mentions of Suicide, Minor Character Death, On BOTH SIDES, Past Child Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, R Plus L Equals J, Rough Sex, Sith!Jon, Survivor Guilt, extreme violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdarksistahx/pseuds/xdarksistahx
Summary: This isn't the life Daenerys Targaryen envisioned for herself as a Jedi. She's supposed to be protecting the citizens of the galaxy from wickedness, not filling every waking moment of her existence obsessing over one of the vilest men in the galaxy. But she must have her vengeance. She must kill the one they call Jon Snow. At all costs. Even at the cost of her sanity, even at the cost of shedding her light and delving into the dark side.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Duel of the Fates [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1675735
Comments: 220
Kudos: 311





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> More characters will be added if necessary. Warning: this is not a cutesy fic. this will be a toxic relationship. read at your own risk.
> 
> For my non-star wars fam that are still reading despite not knowing shite, padawan = jedi apprentice!

A feeling Daenerys can’t quite place thrums through her, from her scalp to the tips of her toes. 

It isn’t dread she feels. She’s waited for this day ever since the start of her training with Master Selmy, an old bear of a man with hair as white as the snow that covers a majority of Winterfell. Although she has never seen the planet with her own eyes, she’s seen it through the stories her master shares when he’s in one of his talkative moods. 

Daenerys doesn’t feel elated. She refrains from allowing herself to feel intense emotions like that. If she can be happy then she can be sad, and in time her sadness can evolve into anger, putting her on a path to the dark side. And because of who she is, because of the blood that courses through her, she wouldn’t be strong enough to resist the temptation. 

That’s what her master constantly tells her. 

Trying to determine her exact emotion is pointless, she decides. Instead, she searches for a new distraction to draw her attention away from the snip, snipping of the shears. All around her, silver ringlets cascade on the floor. During her years spent at the temple, she grew her hair out; it was a little past her hips. 

Now that she’s completed her training she’s having it cut before she heads out on her first solo assignment. Well, it isn’t a solo assignment actually. Her friends will be accompanying her. It’s just the first assignment without her master; her first assignment as a Jedi. 

“Such a shame,” Irri, her fellow Jedi and friend, says as she brushes hair off Daenerys’s shoulders. “You have beautiful hair. Must I cut this much?” 

Thinking of the hours on end running drills with a heavy braid weighing her down keeps her firm in her decision. 

“Yes, Irri. I want you to cut it the way I showed you.” 

Besides, this is more of her way of opening a new chapter in her life, shedding her days as a fumbling apprentice. 

Daenerys adds, “and my hair will grow back.” 

“But I won’t be able to give you a braid until it grows back.” 

On Irri’s home planet, Vaes Dothrak, braids are given to warriors to symbolize their victories. Here, on Braavos, Irri braids the hair of her friends as a way to acknowledge and share her culture. There was a time when having Irri braid her hair was the highlight of Daenerys’s day. Her training was grueling, and it pushed her to limits she never thought possible. On top of that, her leisure time spent with the other apprentices was tough. It’s gotten easier, but sometimes whispers still follow her everywhere she goes. She doubts that will ever change. 

“All done.” Irri walks around Daenerys and holds up a small piece of mirror for her. “At least you don’t look like a little boy. I remember when I thought you were a boy when you first came to the temple.” 

That was because she was wearing her brother’s clothes and her mother had shaved her bald to hide her silver hair. Their journey here from their home planet was long and arduous, but with their identities hidden it was easier than it would’ve been otherwise. 

She quickly dismisses the memory. Nothing good will come from digging up those old bones. 

Daenerys takes the mirror. She turns her head from side to side, liking what she’s seeing. Her hair stops just under her ears as she wanted. 

“Thank you, Irri. You’ve been a great help to me.” A smile begins to creep on her face but she stops it in its tracks. “We should go see if Doreah and Rakharo are ready.” 

That isn’t all that she wants to say to the first person who befriended her here, the first person to ignore the terrible rumors that were said about her and see her as her own person, not her father or her older brother. But there’s no need for such a sentimental exchange. They’ll be going on this mission together, after all. 

Irri just gives Daenerys one of her gentle smiles that implies she knows and understands the unspoken words between them. She’s fortunate to have a friend like Irri. 

“I think I know where Doreah and Rakharo are,” Irri says. 

They leave the hair on the floor for the cleaning droid to take care of and head to the Whispering Gardens. Contrary to the name, the gardens are one of the few places in the temple where incessant and loud chatter is allowed. It’s Daenerys’s second favorite place in the temple with the first place being the library. If she could, she’d probably hole herself up inside the library forever. When Master Selmy told her that she shared her love for books with her older brother Daenerys felt proud. She wishes she could’ve known him. 

The brother she did know wasn’t as heroic and kind as she’s told her older brother was, but he sufficed, she supposes. He had a difficult childhood so she never faulted him for his mean streaks. When she needed a shoulder to cry on or a story to help her sleep, he was there for her. 

As they’re approaching the entrance to the gardens, the doors open and Doreah and Rakharo step out. The latter is also a native of Vaes Dothrak. Like Irri his skin is dark and his eyes are a deep brown. His long hair is always in two braids bound by a leather tie. He’s had two victories during his missions with Master Selmy. Out of their group of recent graduates, Rakharo holds the most promise. No one knows what planet Doreah hails from, not even Doreah. She’s a quiet girl with loud eyes; if that makes any sense. 

They’re all sixteen, and they each began their training at the age of ten. Jedi are in high demand since the destruction of the main temple on Coruscant. 

“I’m thankful we didn’t have to separate you two this time,” Daenerys says to Rakharo and Doreah pointedly. 

“He was eager to depart for our assignment,” is all Doreah says, blushing faintly. 

Rakharo says nothing. He just smiles. 

They walk in silence to the courtyard. Instinctively, Daenerys touches the saber at her hip. She isn’t sure why she felt the need to check to see if it was there. It’s just a hunch she gets sometimes; that danger is imminent. Her master often tells her that she’s naturally a pessimistic person because of how she was raised. She’s been trying to change that about herself but it doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon. 

The walls of the corridor change from steel to glass the closer they draw to the courtyard.

Braavos’ second sun is beginning to rise, casting the sky in shades of pink and orange. The stone buildings used to look daunting to her now she can’t look at them without thinking of the days they’d all sneak out of the temple and run around in the dirt streets. Master Selmy always caught them but he never scolded them; not too harshly. 

Rakharo is retelling the story of the time he climbed the tallest stone building when a black dot appears in the sky, followed by another and another. When a larger, ominous dot appears immediately after the others, that sinking feeling Daenerys felt prior returns, more prominent than before. 

By the time the temple’s alarms sound, they’re running. Even at that far distance, they know what a Dreadnought looks like. 

“We need to make sure the younglings are taken to the haven!” Daenerys shouts at the others. 

Without a word, Rakharo, and Doreah split from the group and run in the opposite direction to where the Youngling’s Quarters are. 

“Why are they here?” Irri asks. “How did they find the temple?” 

“It doesn’t matter now,” Daenerys says. Up ahead, she can see the open courtyard, can smell the crisp dawn air. She can see the row of starships, Jedi, and padawans running frantically. Her heart races. “Quickly! We need to find Master-” 

A spear of red light is fired from the sky, exploding two of the starships, sending debris and people flying in their direction. Daenerys only has enough time to duck.

-o0o-

Daenerys awakes sharply, gasping for air and coughing.

Pain. She feels pain all over. Even blinking hurts. Still, she blinks to adjust her eyes to the darkness. It shouldn’t be this dark. Only a moment ago the sun was lighting the sky, but now it looks like nighttime. There are noises coming from somewhere nearby. Familiar noises that she can’t quite place in her current state of disorientation. A sudden flash of light kicks her into action. A half-second later, she hears an explosion in the distance.

That’s right. It’s all starting to come back to her. 

The temple is under attack. 

Daenerys tries to sit up but there’s something, no someone weighing her down. Catching a whiff of nutmeg, she’s flooded with relief. 

“Irri,” she croaks, nudging the girl gently. Irri doesn’t budge. She nudges again, harder this time. “Irri! Irri, wake up!” 

No response. No movement. Nothing. 

Panicking, Daenerys pushes her pain aside, she bottles it up inside of her and finds her strength. She has some difficulty pushing Irri’s limp body off of her but only because there’s a piece of scrap metal on top of them. However, she manages. She moves to her knees and cradles Irri’s head on her lap. The girl is warm to the touch so that gives her hope, though, she knows it isn’t much to lean on. 

Another explosion goes off, hitting one of the stone buildings. The brief flash of light allows her to see Irri’s face. The girl’s eyes are wide and frightened. Her eyes are still and lifeless. 

“Irri,” Daenerys cries, her voice breaking. “Irri…” 

The sound of screaming reaches her ears. The attack isn’t over. She can’t sit here mourning. She has to protect her home. 

“I’ll come back for you,” Daenerys promises her friend. She kisses Irri’s forehead. “I’ll be right back...” 

She mustn’t despair, she tells herself as she tries to find her way through the rubble. She has to remember her training. 

The smoke is so thick and black, and the flames are spreading so wildly that it makes Braavos look like a different planet entirely. The courtyard, that was once lush and green and beautiful is a fiery ruin. Squinting her eyes, she tries to make out the forms she sees through the smoke. It isn’t until she sees the blues and greens of sabers that she gets a general idea of where she’s needed. 

Daenerys ignites her own saber, gripping it tightly. She’s never had to use it during battle. All of her missions with Master Selmy were without incident. A small part of her is anxious to see if her training has been worth it. A larger part is disgusted that she can even think like that during a time like this. This isn’t a test to see if she’s learned anything. This is life or death. Irri is…

She swallows down a sob and keeps moving forward. 

“You’re the only one remaining!” she hears someone shouting. “Surrender!” 

Her heart swells. Is it over already? Did they win? 

Daenerys breaks through the smoke and sees Doreah, Rakharo, and two padawans surrounding a lone fighter. He’s shrouded in black from head to two. His mask is different from that of a Storm Trooper but just as intimidating. He’s only holding a blaster. 

Easy, she thinks. They can take him into custody without much effort. 

“Lower your blaster!” Rakharo shouts. 

The seconds tick by painfully slow. An hour could’ve passed. That’s how long the tense silence draws out. When the fighter tosses his blaster on the ground, it’s as if they all take a collective breath of air. Putting her saber away, Doreah moves to pick up the blaster. The hairs on the nape of Daenerys’s neck stand on end; she can sense a powerful and sudden killing intent. 

“Doreah, no!” she screams. 

It’s too late.

Shocking them all, the lone fighter draws a saber of their own. Dread settles in the pit of her belly at the sight of the red kyber crystal. Only the sith wield red sabers. 

Doreah barely has time to blink before she’s cut down. The brutality of the attack leaves Daenerys in momentary shock. All she can do is stand there with her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. She’s never had anyone die in front of her very eyes like this. 

It’s at that moment that she realizes that she isn’t ready. She isn’t ready to be a Jedi. She isn’t prepared for a real battle. 

Rakharo attacks the enemy with a war cry and tears streaming down his face. She’s always thought the Dothraki boy was a brilliant fighter, that no one other than Master Selmy could compete with him. 

It shames her to admit that their enemy is a superior fighter. 

He dances around Rakharo’s wild attacks with ease and an air of indifference. This isn’t personal for him the way it is for Rakharo and it shows. The others are edging closer to the fight, waiting for their turn to strike. One of them gets too close, and the enemy parries one of Rakharo’s blows, pivots around, beheads the person who was creeping up behind him then faces Rakharo again just in time to parry another blow. 

Daenerys nearly empties her stomach at the sight of the decapitated head but she swallows down the bile. She shakes herself out of her stupor and watches the fight closely. By the looks of it, Rakharo will fall and so will her other ally. If she doesn’t think of something quick, she’ll fall behind them. 

The other padawan does indeed fall to the enemy before the fight with Rakharo is finished. Daenerys contemplates fleeing. Only for a second, however. She’ll die before she turns coward. 

Then she remembers the discarded blaster. 

She looks on the ground for it. It’s next to Doreah’s body. Daenerys’s eyes water. First Irri, and now Doreah. There’s no telling who else has already fallen. She kneels down and picks up the blaster, trying her best not to look at Doreah’s face. She can’t stomach the sight of another dead friend. She doesn’t even look up to see Rakharo’s death. His anguished groan is enough to rip her apart. When his body drops to the ground with a thud, she looks up at the enemy, her eyes filled with hatred that she knows she shouldn’t possess. Hatred is a path to the dark side, she knows. But it's hatred that consumed her now. 

The masked fighter stares back at her, and she’ll never forget this moment. If she somehow survives this she will never forget their menacing, loathsome appearance with the burning world at their back while their black cape blows in the wind. 

Rising slowly, Daenerys aims the blaster at their chest. Then she fires. With their free hand, they stop the blast in its track using the force. They send it right back at her with incredible strength but Daenerys presses back. As the blast lingers in the space between them, she can sense this person in the force, can sense the emptiness inside of them. They've taken so many lives and yet their heart is cold and black, absent of remorse. 

Disgust fills her. A person like this shouldn’t be allowed to exist. 

The longer they both push on the blast, the more uncontained it becomes. The blast quivers and sparks from the pressure of their mental wills. A sweat breaks out on her forehead, a drop of blood spills from her nose. They're stronger than her, and the effort it takes to fight them off is straining her, but she doesn’t give up. 

She taps into a bit of her anger, using it to add to her strength. Doing so is dangerous, she knows. But this is a dire situation. 

And it works. 

Screaming, she nearly sends the blast all the way back to them. They step forward, a sign that more effort is required on their behalf to contend with her. Daenerys is prepared to go all the way and unlock all of her negative emotions just to end this person. But then they startle her when they deflect the blast and send it flying at something off to the side of them. 

Daenerys hears someone gasp. Moments later, Master Selmy staggers forward, bleeding from the stomach. 

“Daenerys,” Master Selmy groans, “run, child!” 

She should run. She doesn’t. She can’t. 

The masked enemy attacks Master Selmy. This time, she doesn’t sense indifference within them like she sensed when they were fighting Rakharo. There’s pure hatred, meaning this fight is personal. Their attacks are aggressive and swift. They move like a storm, unrelenting and inexorable. If it weren’t for Master Selmy’s wound, Daenerys would’ve felt confident in her master. No matter how good the enemy is, Master Selmy is better and more experienced. However, the old man is bleeding out and his movements are sluggish. 

Moving closer to the fight, she fires the blaster at the enemy. Without even turning their head, they deflect the blast and sends it off to a random area in the courtyard. 

“You don’t deserve to wield that saber, boy," Master Selmy is saying to the man. “Your father was twice the man than you’ll ever-” 

So, this is a man. No, a boy. And apparently his father was also a sith lord. How does her master know this person? 

Suddenly, there’s another spike of killing intent that sends a cold shiver through Daenerys. 

Master Selmy’s saber hand is cut off. Clutching his wrist, he drops to his knees, screaming in agony. In a blind rage, Daenerys tosses the blaster aside and rushes the masked boy. He’s taken too much from her. She won’t allow him to take her master. He’s all she has left. 

Daenerys raises her saber high and strikes down. The boy turns in time to force push the attack back with his left hand, but she manages to halt his actions with only her mind. He’s still quick to parry with his saber. However, he isn’t quick enough. The tip of her saber cuts into his mask on the left side. Through the smoking, melting cut in the mask, she can see a cold, grey eye peering back at her.

Quickly, she flips back, landing unsteadily on her feet. She rushes him again. 

She’s pissed him off. She can sense it. Soon afterward, she can feel the bulk of his irritation when he sends her flying across the courtyard with a powerful force push. Daenerys uses the force to soften her fall but it still rattles her bones. Still, she gets right back up. It has to be the adrenaline. Hurriedly, she makes her way back to where they are. 

Master Selmy is up on his feet again. The Old Jedi isn’t down for the count. Yet. Daenerys can feel his essence fading, and she’s certain the boy can feel it too. 

“You’re nothing like I expected.” 

At the sound of his eerie voice, Daenerys halts in her track. She knows he’s talking to Master Selmy but it feels as if his words are meant for her. 

“My father used to speak highly of you,” the boy says, his voice heavily modified by the mask. “But you’re nothing more than a washed-up disappointment.” He sidesteps an attack, spins effortlessly, and slices Master Selmy up the back from tailbone to shoulder. 

Daenerys chokes on her scream. She rushes toward her fallen master. Before she can reach his body, she’s lifted into the air, an invisible hand around her throat, squeezing the life out of her. Through heavy-lidded eyes, she can see a mass of storm troopers flooding the courtyard and the bodies of her fallen brothers and sisters on the lawn. 

Tears stream down her face. She’ll be joining them all soon. 

“Lord Commander,” she hears one of the troopers say. “What do you want us to do next?” 

“Find the younglings,” the masked monster says. He stabs Master Selmy again to make sure he’s dead. “Kill them all.” 

Darkness creeps up on her, starting at the corners of her vision before spreading like wildfire until all she sees is nothingness. 

* * *

_“Remember what I told you, my child. Yes, the emperor was your father. Yes, he did terrible things but you are not him. You can never be him.” Her mother’s hands are cold and frail yet there’s strength in them still as she clasps Daenerys’s hand. “Now go. Carve out a new path for yourself. Wear our name with pride. Make it mean something again.”_

_“Mother, I’m scared.”_

_“And so am I but you must be strong. Or you will perish..."_

* * *

Daenerys thought she did perish.

She didn’t. 

Two broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, ruptured ocular blood vessels, various cuts, bruises, and mental scars that will never heal— that’s the current state of the sole survivor of the attack on Planet Braavos. 

Out of the five Jedi, six padawans, nine younglings, and eleven attendants, Daenerys is the only one left. She isn’t sure why that is. She was certain the masked boy killed her. Yet here she remains. It’s a curse, not a blessing. 

Reinforcements sent from the Resistance came a little too late. None of them insult her with their excuses. In fact, none of them enter her room. Even though they’re not force-sensitive they can sense her building rage from the other side of the ship. 

When she closes her eyes, she sees their faces; the faces of her dead allies. She doesn’t open her eyes immediately. She lingers there, lingers on their faces in order to burn them to her memory. She will never forget them or the attack on her home. And when she regains her strength, she will avenge them. 

Turning her head, Daenerys stares, not at the stark white walls of the medical ward, but at the vast and open galaxy on the other side.

He’s out there.

For whatever reason, she can feel him as if he were in the room with her. 

Lord Commander, that’s what they called him. Master Selmy called him a boy. How could a child be so merciless? And even at his young age, he's a superior in the First Order apparently. 

Nonetheless, she’s going to hunt him down, to the edge of the universe if she has to, and she won’t stop until she’s killed him. 


	2. Shall We Begin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, Jon and Dany fuck different people in this chapter for jealousy's sake. (Dany/Daario and Jon/Nymeria - it isn’t long at all) The relationships are brief and non-important to the overall plot so please don't give me shit about it. The reception for the first chapter was amazing. Thanks again to everyone who supported in any way!

It’s always with him; this nagging feeling at the back of his skull. 

Sometimes he’s able to ignore it. Other times, like now, he can’t. Since he awoke this morning, even during his early training drills, the sensation has been persistent and distracting. If he could, he’d cut it out and free himself of the annoyance.

There’s too much work to be done to bother with something so trivial. 

“Jon.” The Supreme Leader of the First Order speaks his name in a calm yet stern tone. He sits upon the Dark Throne, peering down with empty, yellow eyes. Aside from his eyes, the rest of him is shrouded by billowy black, hooded robes. “Are you listening?” 

“There are Resistance forces en route to the Westerosi system. My sources tell me they intend to meet with a spy who has information that can harm our plans moving forward,” Jon says, repeating the Supreme Leader’s words verbatim. 

If the Supreme Leader is pleased or unimpressed, Jon can’t tell.

The man’s face, as well as his emotions, are always hidden. He saw the man’s face once on the night he came to the Jedi temple to make Jon his one and only apprentice. He saw his face on another night, long before that night at the temple, but Jon pretends not to remember that time. 

“You were already set to go to that solar system, were you not?” The Supreme Leader, Tywin, doesn’t wait for Jon to answer. “This is the anniversary of their deaths, is it not?” 

The man is trying to goad Jon. But Jon won’t take the bait. He remains kneeling and lowers his head as a show of full submission. 

“Yes, Supreme Leader.” 

“You visit their grave every year. I’ve told you that there’s no point in holding on to dead things.” 

_Things._ That word gets under his skin and stays there.

Jon won’t give the man what he wants, however. He won’t lash out. He won’t even think about the many ways that one word makes him want to spill blood. 

“I am a creature of habit,” Jon says flatly. “May I have your permission to leave? I want to crush the Resistance forces immediately.” 

“You may leave. But let this be the last year you visit that grave.” 

Jon leaves. 

He’s escorted off the Supreme Leader’s flagship by two elite guards. He says nothing, he feels nothing until he’s back on his ship and in the privacy of his quarters. Removing his mask, he sets it on the white bedside table.

Orders have already been given to his subordinates for them to use hyperspeed to enter the Westerosi system before the Resistance does. 

After Jon feels that tell-tale jolt of the ship moving through the galaxy at lightning speed, he sighs. Usually, that’s the only outward show of emotion he’s allowed but he gets lucky today. 

A mouse enters his room. It’s an MSE-7; a newer model repair droid. It beeps incessantly as it rolls from corner to corner, inspecting. 

_I’ve told you that there’s no point in holding on to dead things._

Jon crushes the mouse without a wave of his hand or any other physical gesture. Still, he can feel the metal bending and breaking in his grasp as though he were touching it. When the beeping morphs into distorted noises to eventual silence, he stops. 

Crushing that repair droid only helped a little, unfortunately. Good thing the Resistance will be sending him more vermin to kill. 

That nagging feeling is back again, stronger than it’s been in quite some time. Jon turns his head in the direction of where he senses the feeling strongest. 

Whatever or whoever it is that’s been haunting him for the past two years is near. 

* * *

“Daenerys? Do you sense something?” 

Daenerys continues staring off to her right, at the grey, empty sky. The wind rolling in off the sea whips her long hair around her face yet her eye contact remains unbroken because it’s not the sky she sees. 

It’s him. 

They’d just landed on the small outpost planet, Pyke when Daenerys sensed that powerful presence. The last time she felt it this strongly was a year ago. But that moment was fleeting and she had doubts that she’d felt it all. Now, she knows that it’s him, and it’s as if he’s staring right back at her.

She brushes her hand over the saber at her hip. 

“We need to move quickly,” is all she says, keeping her voice clear and level. 

The two Resistance pilots don’t question her. They continue moving up the coastline, through the thick forest. Just beyond the trees is where their contact is supposed to be waiting.

The pilots trust her, not just because she’s a Jedi, but because she’s guarded them on several assignments and has never failed to keep them safe. 

However, the apparent appearance of the notorious Lord Commander has changed the odds drastically. Dread tries to cling to her. She pushes the useless emotion aside.

She isn’t that frightened little girl anymore, and she’s been waiting to face him again. 

That attack on their temple heavily damaged the Jedi community. Aside from her, there are four Jedi remaining in the galaxy. While the other Jedi prefer to lay low—hide from the First Order, Daenerys has been putting herself on the frontline every chance she gets.

She accepts every escort mission, no matter how mundane, in hopes that she’ll cross paths with the one they call Jon Snow. 

That’s the name she was given by several people when she went asking about the Lord Commander of the First Order. It took her five months to fully heal from the injuries she sustained during the attack on Braavos.

As soon as she was able, she ventured to the grimiest parts of the galaxy seeking information. She’s heard a lot of stories. Some true, some ridiculous and obviously false. 

One story that she’s heard countless times is the story of Jon’s origin. His father was a nobody who drank himself to death and his mother was a bed slave from Lys.

In the pleasure houses, male children are either groomed to serve high-end clientele or they’re raised as eventual protectors of the workers. In other words, bodyguards. 

As the stories tell it, Jon was chosen for neither path. He was too scrawny to be worth training and too ugly and awkward to follow in his mother’s footsteps.

On top of that, his mother hated the sight of him because he looked too much like his worthless father. One night, a passing patron visited the pleasure house and Jon’s mother sold him for the cost of one drink at the bar. 

What happened to Jon after that differs depending on who tells the story. None of the versions are good. There’s nothing good about a child being beaten and abused in every way imaginable. Even if that child grew up to kill countless people, including her friends. 

When Daenerys heard those stories, she had to stop herself from feeling sorry for the man. However, she felt great sadness for the child. That could’ve been her had her mother not ensured her safety. Sympathy for innocence loss is as far as her sympathy goes. 

She will kill him, and nothing will stop her. That goal hasn’t changed. 

No one knows how Jon found his way to the First Order. They only know that he’s considered a prodigy. He became Lord Commander at only fourteen and defeated a Jedi master at the age of sixteen.

Master Selmy might’ve been old and injured but he was every bit a great wielder of the force even still. So, for Jon to defeat him is nothing to bat an eye at. 

Daenerys has doubled her training over the years. She’s gained battle experience and claimed her own victories. Her braid stops right at the top of her tailbone. She hasn’t even thought about cutting her hair again. She will wear her braid proudly for Irri and Rakharo.

And when she fights, she fights with the spirit of all of her fallen allies. It’s because of them all that she has managed to keep her head above water and resist the sorrow and anger that tries to consume her at every turn. 

“The tracker is picking up a signal,” one of the pilots, Pan, says. He’s a tall, slender man with mossy green eyes and bright auburn hair. “It’s our contact.” 

His identical twin Pax keeps his head shaved but has a thick, long auburn beard. That’s the only way Daenerys can ever tell them apart. 

“Let’s hurry and get this intel so we can leave this place,” says Pax. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” 

He isn’t the only one.

Daenerys hasn’t been able to shake the feeling either. As eager as she is to face Lord Commander, she only wants to do so when no one else is around. The sooner she gets the twins back to their ship safely, the better. 

The trees are beginning to thin and they can see light up ahead, meaning they’re nearing the opening of the forest. When the empire was flourishing so was Pyke, but when the First Order took over, small outposts like this were abandoned. 

The First Order only cares about the planets that can produce the most valuable items, and Pyke isn’t one of those places. She’s told that their contact is a native of this planet. How they came across the intel is a mystery. 

Daenerys seems to be the only one who thinks the intel is rubbish. She tries not to voice her negativity or her opinions at all for that matter. A Jedi’s counsel was once coveted, but all they want from her kind are their sabers. So, she only does the work she’s paid for and leaves it at that. 

They break through the trees. Several, scattered huts make up the entirety of the small fisherman village. Their contact’s hut has a red marking on the flap to show them the way. 

Daenerys remains at the twins’ backs to guard them against any surprise attacks. Unsurprisingly, the village is deathly quiet. The only sound is the wind and the rolling waves of the sea crashing against the rocks. 

Pan whistles to alert the contact of their presence. Moments later, the tent’s flap is opened and someone steps out. A chill travels up Daenerys’s spine at the sight of none other than Lord Commander.

He’s noticeably taller and overall bigger than he was that day on Braavos which makes sense because if the stories are true he’s eighteen now; like her. 

His mask and black robes are the same. Even his intimidating presence has remained unchanged. Jon moves his hand quickly and Daenerys prepares herself for a force attack. Instead, the man tosses a decapitated head at their feet. She assumes it’s the head of their informant.

Well, so much for that. 

“Ambush!” Pax shouts as if that wasn’t made clear already. 

Both brothers take out their blasters and fire at Jon. As expected, he uses the force to deflect. But he doesn’t send them right back at the twins. He spares them. That must mean he has something worse planned for them. 

“Do you remember me?” she asks in a cold voice. 

She doesn’t expect him to answer so she’s surprised when he does. 

“Am I supposed to?” he asks, his voice heavily modified. 

“You killed my friends!” 

Jon tilts his head slightly. “I’ve killed many friends. You’re going to have to be more specific.” 

He isn’t joking. He genuinely doesn’t remember her. Daenerys isn’t sure why that’s disappointing. No matter. That’s not essential to her revenge. 

“Monster,” she spats, taking up her saber and igniting it. 

“The only monster is the person who sent you all here to die.” He raises his hand, signaling someone. “Surely your general had to have suspected an ambush. I suppose I should be thankful for her incompetence.” 

Daenerys looks around to see dozens of Storm Troopers surrounding them with their blasters aimed at them. She forgets all about protecting Pan and Pax, her revenge momentarily consuming her every thought. This is her only chance, she tells herself. She has to do it now or never. She rushes forward, prepared to attack. 

“There’ll be none of that,” Jon says with a wave of his hand. 

The coward, she thinks. It’s the last thought she has before she slips into unconsciousness.

* * *

"No! Please, no more!” A man’s terrified screams startle Daenerys awake. “I don’t know anything! I swear it!” 

Blinking slowly, she gazes up at a metal ceiling. The entire room seems to be made of metal, in fact. It’s a harsh contrast in comparison to the rocky, barrenness of Pyke. They’re on a ship then. But whose ship? An image of the Lord Commander’s mask flashes in her mind. Her heart races. 

Sitting up, Daenerys soon learns that she can’t sit up actually. Her arms and legs are bound to what appears to be a surgical table. Grimacing, she turns her head to the right. She’s met by the sight of a mutilated Pan.

One of his eyes has been removed with a laser from the looks of it along with all of his fingers on his left hand. He also doesn’t appear to be alive. 

“You’re a tough one,” she hears Jon say to Pax on the other side of the room. “I thought you’d crack after seeing what I did to your twin. Either you secretly hated him or you genuinely don’t know anything…” 

Even with her hands bound, Daenerys isn’t powerless. She lifts a hand off the table as far as she can manage in an attempt to force push the monster away from Pax. Without turning away from the twin, Jon speaks. 

“You’ll have your turn soon enough, Jedi. Be patient.” 

The clamps around her hands tighten painfully, preventing her from moving her hands again. If she weren’t in so much pain she wouldn’t need her hands. For now, all she can do is watch him interrogate and torture Pax.

Honestly, she’s using this opportunity as a way to think of a plan. Pan is already dead and soon Pax will be dead, too. She has learned to be realistic about these sorts of things. There’s a voice in her head that’s telling her that she’s just jaded and bitter but she ignores it. 

“I’m done asking questions,” Jon says. “I’ll just take what I want.” He stretches his hand out, reaching for Pax but not touching him. 

Pax screams as his mind is invaded and his thoughts are stripped apart. It makes Daenerys wonder why the man didn’t just use this method, to begin with. He could’ve saved himself time. Then it hits her. Jon is sadistic and cruel, it would appear. Of course, he would torture these men physically and mentally. 

Daenerys sheds a tear listening to Pax cry and beg for mercy. He cries until the pain is too unbearable and all he can do is scream then he screams until his throat is raw.

It goes on for years seems like, and it only ends when Pax dies from the excruciating pain. She doesn’t think she’s heard of anyone dying from that, ever. 

Jon says, “As it turns out, he really didn’t know anything.” He walks away from Pax. “What a waste of time. I hope you won’t disappoint me. Women rarely do.” 

Daenerys steadies herself for whatever he’ll throw at her. When he approaches her table and just stands there, her heart thuds so loudly she swears he can hear it, too. What is he waiting for? He’s just standing there, staring at her. 

At that moment, she feels naked all of a sudden. It’s as if he can see every part of her and that makes her uncomfortable. She shifts on the table, wishing she could cover herself from his gaze.

His face remains hidden from her yet he can see every emotion on her face clearly. It makes her feel vulnerable. She bets her futile struggles are quite entertaining to him, the damn sadist. 

Jon touches the ends of her hair, curling his gloved fingers through the strands. During the transport here, it seems her braid has started to come undone. The touch is so gentle that it startles her. 

Disgust churns in her stomach. “Don’t touch me!” she says and it sounds more like a snarl. 

Dropping his hand, he begins circling the table. “You were hired for this assignment so asking you detailed questions about the Resistance resources and supporters is pointless.” His steps are soundless, but she can sense him easily. “I really don’t have any use for you as a hostage.” 

“Then why am I here?” 

“I have time to kill. You asked me if I remembered you?” Jon stops at the end of the table, by her feet and stands there. “Remember you from where exactly?” 

“How many lives have you taken that you can’t remember something from two years ago?” It’s such a short time, after all. 

Jon settles his hands on the table, resting them on either side of her feet. If she could, she’d kick him in the throat. “A couple hundred but who’s counting,” he says dismissively. “Are you seeking revenge? How pitiful.” 

“Free me and give me my saber. We’ll see who’s pitiful, coward!” 

Raising his hand, he presses forward, opening the door of her mind using the force. “You talk too much yet you’re not telling me what I want to know. I’ll retrieve the answer for myself…” 

Eyes falling shut, she throws her head back and grits her teeth. She won’t scream for him. It’s like he’s dissecting her mind and examining every compartment.

All of her fears, secrets, and desires are laid out before him. She can see what he sees and it makes her want to vomit from embarrassment. 

“Orphan, loner, nomad,” he says. A pause. “Virgin.” He seems amused by that for whatever reason. “You Jedi live such miserable and pathetic lives.” 

Daenerys had more than she can bear. Finding her strength, she shuts him out of her mind forcefully. Then she enters his. 

“Orphan,” she says, “Friendless, loveless, and unrepentant.” Someone like him who kills without thought is beyond saving. “Your romantic life is non-existent. Not that I’m surprised. But what’s this…” She unlocks another mental door and sees a brief image of a beautiful woman with long, chestnut hair and grey eyes. “A love interest?” 

“Enough,” Jon says sternly, shutting her out of his mind. He’s angry now. “You were one of Barristan Selmy’s pupils. I thought I killed you then. That was my mistake.” 

“It was. Now you’re going to die for what you did.” 

“Highly unlikely considering the sole survivor is at my mercy.” Slowly, Jon walks up to her while hovering his hand over her body, starting at her ankles. His hands aren’t touching her yet she feels his caress all the same. “What game shall we play together, little Mouse?” 

It makes her skin crawl, though, she acts unbothered. 

“The game where you stop being a coward and let me go,” she says. “Are you afraid that I’ll win? Is that why you’re keeping my hands bound?” 

Jon chuckles. The voice modulator makes it eerier than it probably is. “How about we play the dismembering game where I cut off pieces of you and see how long you can go before passing out.” His hands hover over her breasts, lingering there. “Though it would be a pity to ruin you like that…” 

Daenerys involuntarily shudders. “Touch me and I will make you wish for death.” The thought of those blood-soaked hands anywhere near her has her physically sick. 

“I won’t touch you,” Jon says, dropping his hand to his side. “My saber will do the touching. Tell me, have you ever felt the heat of a saber directly on your flesh? I suppose not since you have all of your limbs. There’s nothing like the screams people make when my saber slices into them. I wonder how pretty your screams will sound.” He sounds like he’s smiling. 

Daenerys struggles against the clamps. She looks around the room for anything she can manipulate with the force in order to incapacitate him. Her search is fruitless. 

“We’ll have to hold off on the fun until later, I’m afraid.” Jon touches her hair again, ignoring her curses. “Wait for me,” he chuckles. 

He heads for the door and it slides up for him. Outside, there’s a trooper guarding the door. Jon orders them to get rid of the twins’ bodies and to leave her. She watches him disappear down the corridor, cape flowing behind him. 

When the door closes, she relaxes her body and bides her time. 

* * *

“Lord Commander, we’ve reached Winterfell.” 

Jon walks down the corridor, his subordinate falling into step behind him. “Prepare my ship,” he orders. “Tell the others not to disturb me. Make no exceptions.” 

“What if the Supreme Lead-” 

Halting, Jon doesn’t turn around, he doesn’t say anything. His silence says more than any words or actions can. 

“Yes, sir. We will not disturb you,” the man says before quickly walking off to carry out his orders. 

Jon continues walking. 

How disappointing, he thinks. 

After all this time, that nagging feeling was just an annoying Jedi with a grudge. He should’ve killed her that night at the temple to save himself the trouble.

Now he has no choice but to toy with her a little first. There’s just something about Jedi that brings out his crueler side. 

To say he loathes them is an understatement. If he could, he’d go out right now, find the remaining Jedi and kill them all. But his plans will work out eventually. He’s closer than he’s ever been to reaching his goal. Which is why he can’t afford this new distraction. 

He glances down at his hand, remembering how he curled his fingers through his silver-white hair. That was a moment of weakness on his behalf. Her hair simply reminded him of his father's, that’s all.

She isn’t the only person in the galaxy with hair like that, though. The Velaryons of Driftmark has the same physical features as his father's side of the family. Still, she was Selmy’s apprentice.

Jon doubts it’s a coincidence. The likelihood of her being related to the former Emperor isn’t too far-fetched considering his own existence. However, that’s of no concern to Jon. When he returns, he’ll kill her quickly. And like the others he’s killed, her memory will fade from his mind.

Passing the long windows of the main corridor, he looks out at Winterfell. The planet is completely white minus a small area of verdant green.

Even after all these years, the snow never sticks to their grave. It makes him wonder if the planet’s gods have made it so. Not that he believes in such nonsense. 

The only thing Jon believes in is himself. The Supreme Leader is convinced that he’s the one and only thing Jon believes in. 

It’s laughable. 

Truth is, Jon hates the whole lot of them; the Jedi and the Sith.

He doesn’t fight for either of them. He fights for himself. He’s been playing the role of Tywin’s lapdog for years but soon, he’s going to rise up.

With endless training, he’s learned to mask his emotions and keep his true thoughts hidden and yet...that little mouse can see right into him; better than most at least. There are still things he was able to keep from her. 

But her ability to do that gives him even more reason to crush her. 

* * *

Without a second to spare, Daenerys kicks her plan into action once the Storm Trooper enters the room to retrieve the twins' bodies. They have a transport cart with them. 

Good. 

“You are going to release me and tell me everything I want to know,” she says, using the manipulation effortlessly. 

In a lifeless voice, the trooper repeats her words. “I am going to release you and tell you everything you want to know.” They walk over to the command board and hit the release button. 

The clamps come undone. Quickly, Daenerys sits up, rubbing her bruised wrists and wincing slightly. She doesn’t like that her braid is undone but she will have to deal with that later. Priorities first. 

Closing her eyes briefly, she searches the ship to see if her lightsaber is on board. It is. Although, she’s having trouble pinpointing its exact location. She asks the trooper where it is.

They tell her that it’s in Lord Commander’s quarters. If she were familiar with the ship, she’d retrieve it herself but she can’t risk getting caught.

Then again, if she sent them, who is to say Jon won’t catch them? 

However, she doesn’t sense Jon on the ship anymore. 

“Where is your Lord Commander?” 

“He is en route to Winterfell.” 

Winterfell? Why would he go there? Daenerys imagines there’s a village with people Jon intends to kill no doubt. 

“Retrieve my saber for me and bring it back. If anyone asks you what you are doing tell them you are following Lord Commander’s orders. Go now.” 

The trooper leaves. 

Daenerys searches the twins’ bodies for anything that may prove useful. She hasn’t stopped for one second to mourn them, though, she hardly knew them. During the past two years, she hasn’t really mourned anyone aside from those she lost in the past.

That is the harsh reality of her world. 

Even still, she can’t accept what happened to her friends and master. She just can’t. It was as if Jon took her family from her. If she lets go of her vengeance it’ll be the same as spitting on their memory.

Eventually, the trooper returns with her saber. She thanks them for their cooperation then she makes them sleep. 

Then she strips them of their uniform, changes into it, and tosses them into the transport cart along with the corpses. 

The Resistance probably won’t hire her again after this. Not that she particularly cares. There will be other ways to make money. Besides, if she catches Jon before he leaves Winterfell and ends him once and for all, she won’t need the Resistance anymore. 

When this is all done, she wants to find a desolate planet off of everyone’s radar and just live peacefully. In only two years, she’s seen more death and war than she can stomach. 

Daenerys soon learns that this ship is exactly like other First Order ships. This isn’t the first time she’s infiltrated one and escaped so she finds her way around without incident.

She does have one slip up that would’ve probably led to her eventual capture if she hadn’t abandoned the cart and stole the first TIE fighter she can get her hands on. 

The pilot that was about to board it handed it over to her without fuss. Well, because she made them hand it over without fuss. Their course was set for a nearby planet known for its gambling dens. She bet they were looking to have a little fun while their boss was gone. 

What kind of boss is Jon?

None of the rumors said anything about his leadership. She isn’t sure why she would even want to know that. When she was inside of his head, she saw some things that confused her, that’s all. 

Jon is a wicked man, that much is true. She didn’t find an ounce of remorse within him. So the rumors about him being vile weren’t fabricated. However, there were bits and pieces from his childhood that suggest he didn’t live the life people say he lived. 

There was a man, possibly his father, who sung him to sleep quite often. She could never see the man’s face but his voice was very soothing. Then there was a woman who would take Jon orbak riding on a sandy plain.

Dorne was in his memories a lot but she’s never heard any stories that link him to the planet. 

Shaking her head, Daenerys dismisses the thoughts. It’s possible for force users to manipulate their memories in order to prevent anyone from learning the true nature of things.

For all she knows, Jon did the same. She shouldn’t believe anything he shows her and she shouldn’t bother getting to know her soon to be dead enemy. 

According to the planet’s information on the dashboard, the weather is mild on Winterfell compared to the infamous blizzards it’s known for. For that, she is grateful because it’s easier for her to fly around the planet; easier for her to find him. 

Eventually, she does. 

There’s a small patch of meadow surrounded by snow. It seems out of place in the wintery tundra. She sees him standing motionless while overlooking some sort of monument. She also notices that he isn’t wearing his mask.

Daenerys lands the ship several meters away, not wanting to crush a single blue rose in the meadow. Keeping her eyes on him, she removes the trooper uniform, wanting to face him as a Jedi. She knows that he knows she is there yet he doesn’t turn to acknowledge her as she approaches. 

His hair falls a little past his shoulders. It’s black, curly, and shiny. She isn’t sure why she expected unruly, matted hair or no hair at all. In the past, she would try to picture his face without the mask. Every time he was unattractive and unkempt. She has a feeling that was a wrong assessment. 

Over his shoulder, she reads the marble slab he’s staring at. 

_Beloved daughter, sister, wife, and mother, Lyanna._

This is someone’s grave. She’s glad she didn’t land the fighter on the meadow. 

There’s something else written on the marble but Jon shifts and hides it from her view. His back and shoulders are broad; broader than they appear with the robes and cape.

His black shirt clings to him, accentuating his sculpted upper body. She doesn’t understand why she’s noticing this of all things. 

“I’m going to kill the guard I placed in charge of keeping you put,” Jon says with his back turned to her. “That’s if you haven’t killed him already.” 

“You’re not leaving here alive.” 

Jon faces her, and the sight of him gives her pause. 

Yes, her assessment of his possible appearance was dead wrong. 

He’s...well, he’s handsome, almost pretty even. The scar over his left eye—the scar she’s sure she gave him that night years ago—only adds to his attractiveness. His eyes are grey and piercing, his beard is thick yet neatly trimmed, and his face is clear of any other blemishes.

There’s an elegance to his features that makes her believe he is the son of some wealthy noble instead of a no-named father. Then there are his full lips that she tries not to linger on for too long. 

How can someone so nasty be this beautiful? 

“What do you want?” Jon asks, sounding as if he were speaking to a pesky younger sibling. “Are you truly here to avenge some worthless padawans I don’t even remember killing? They were weak. I cut through them like piss in the snow." 

Daenerys forgets all about his good looks. He’s a rotten piece of shit that needs to cease to exist. “You will remember them before you die. I assure you!” 

“I won’t.” He shakes his head. “I won’t remember them even if you carved their names into my head. You don’t even remember them, not really. You only remember your rage. When was the last time you had any memory of them that didn’t involve me killing them like cattle.” 

“I think of them every single day!” she shouts, her eyes watering. "Every single night!" 

Even if she wanted to forget them she couldn’t. For months she would wake up screaming their names. She still has dreams that are too real as if she was back on Braavos watching everyone die around her.

After stressful days and one too many drinks, she hallucinates them, and every single time, they blame her for their deaths. They blame her for being the only one to leave Braavos alive. 

She should’ve died with them. Sometimes she wishes she had. 

“Is that what it is then?” Jon asks. “Their ghosts are haunting you and you think by killing me you’ll free yourself from them?” 

Daenerys’s eyes widen. She didn’t sense him trying to enter her mind so how does he know that was what she was thinking? 

“You will have your freedom. When I kill you. Then you can join your friends and your master.” He takes a step forward. “Now choose where you wish to die.” 

“I won’t be the one dying.” 

“Choose. I will not fight you here.” 

“Whose grave is that?” The words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them. She recovers quickly. “I didn’t think a piece of shit like you would be the sentimental type.” 

Jon stares at her for a long second. Once again, she feels like she’s being dissected by his gaze. 

“There’s a Godswood a hundred meters from here.” He turns his back to her and begins walking away. “We can end this there.” 

-o0o-

The Godswood is a small wooded area filled with white oak trees that bear dark red leaves. Here, the natives call these trees weirwoods. Master Selmy told her the story of how the natives of Winterfell carved faces into these rare trees, believing them to be vessels for the old gods. 

Now, those twisted and gnarled faces surround her and Jon as they circle each other with their sabers ignited. Some of the faces appear to be smiling while the others wear expressions of grief and fear. Most unnerving is the red sap staining their eyes and cheeks, giving off the impression of bloody tears. 

Daenerys pulls her attention away from the faces when she feels Jon’s energy shift. The man went from as calm as still waters to as violent as a raging sea storm in the blink of an eye. He attacks first with a powerful strike and she parries the blow and returns an attack that he parries. 

That’s how the duel starts. 

Attack, parry, attack, parry. No one deals any major or minor blows. They simply take turns attacking and blocking. It’s wholly unintentional. 

Daenerys wonders if perhaps they’re equal in strength now. Then again, they’re both still holding back so it’s difficult to gauge their power levels. She only knows that Jon moves with such a contained fury. All of that rage inside of him should make him careless and sloppy. She’s never seen controlled chaos like this. 

Their sabers meet again. Instead of retracting and moving in for another attack, she presses down, trying to break through his barrier. But he presses back just as stubbornly. Their joined sabers hiss and radiate a searing heat that burns her skin. They’re already sweating despite the chilliness in the air. Her hair is sticking to her face and neck, but she hardly notices. 

All she sees is her opponent. All she senses is him. 

“You have so much hatred inside of you,” Daenerys says, still trying to press forward and land a hit on him. 

“You don’t have enough hatred inside of you.” As if to show her, Jon raises his saber slightly then brings it back down quickly, knocking her back several paces. “You’re still as weak as you were the first time we fought.” 

Daenerys has often thought that but she didn’t want to believe it. After endless training, it feels like she’s gotten nowhere. But she’s strong enough to kill him. 

“Are you saying that if I turned to the dark side I’d be stronger?” She’s just buying herself time by talking. There isn’t a single part of her that desires the dark side. “Sorry, I’d rather not be a soulless cunt.” 

Jon laughs, and it unsettles her. It’s such a hollow sound. “You Jedi think the dark side is pure evil.” He drags his saber in the snow as he approaches her, leaving a smoking, damp line in his wake. “No, it’s power!” 

He attacks with an upward arch that she barely has time to block. Then before she can regain her footing, he attacks her again and again without mercy. Daenerys can only parry and evade for now.

She has a few slip-ups that cost her. He doesn’t cut her with his saber despite having the opportunity to do so. Instead, he elbows her in the face then knees her in the stomach so hard she sees the galaxy. 

Daenerys drops to her knees but she doesn’t drop her saber. Even though she hurts all over and is dizzy she raises it in time to block another attack. 

“I killed your friends and your master,” Jon says as he towers over her. “Yet you still don’t hate me enough.” He circles around her, waiting for her to stand. When she does, he rushes her. “Where’s your hatred?” 

Daenerys uses the force to push one of his attacks back, giving her enough time to attack with her saber. However, Jon is quick and agile.

He flips away from her, putting distance between them. The distance is good. She also needs a moment to regroup. Her hair is all over the place, covering one side of her face. Annoyed, she brushes it over her shoulder. 

“That’s why I didn’t recognize you,” Jon says. “You looked like a boy that day. Short-haired and flat-chested.” He gives her a once over, his eyes glittering. “You gave me this scar. I never thought about it that much. Scars happen. But now I suppose I’ll remember you a little longer after I’ve killed you.” 

The dance resumes. 

Very quickly Daenerys realizes that if she doesn’t change tactics fast Jon is going to kill her. Right now, he’s just toying with her. If he were to get serious…

“Did you truly love your friends and your master?” Jon asks as their sabers meet again and again. “Where’s your hatred? Show it to me.” 

Daenerys did love her friends and her master. They were her family. They were all she had. She thinks of their faces and it makes her want to scream. Instead, she channels that anger into her next attack. She manages to knock Jon back a little. 

The madman smiles. “Yes,” he says enthused. “More.” He evades an attack by spinning then blocks another with his back still turned to her. “More!” He circles her then moves in again. “I know you have more hatred than that, Daenerys!” 

She hates the way he says her name. She doesn’t want him to speak her name at all. 

“Don’t call me that!” 

The angrier she becomes, the stronger she becomes. This is dangerous. She shouldn’t use this power, not even a little bit because it’s addictive. 

“Okay then, Dany,” Jon says, smiling. 

Daenerys falters. 

Her brother Viserys called her that. He was the only one to do so. She doesn’t want Jon to call her that either, but before she can tell him not to address her at all, he’s on her again, finding all of her weaknesses and preying on them. He never touches her with his saber, however. When he finds an opening, he uses his fist. 

At one point, she manages to burn his arm when he tries to punch her in the ribs. Jon recovers from that without fail, however. But she can tell he’s growing bored of this game. 

Daenerys needs to buy more time. “Since you’re going to kill me,” she starts, “why don’t you tell me whose grave that was?” 

“You’ll be dead soon so why bother?” 

Jon rushes her, and this attack is different from the others. Now, he isn’t pretending to kill her. Now, he’s actually trying to kill her.

Daenerys doesn’t back down, though. She meets every one of his blows with her saber despite how much it hurts to block. His hits rattle her arms—her bones.

They’ve been fighting for a while now so naturally, her arms are tired. Despite that, she isn’t going to give up. What she may lack in strength, she makes up for it with her endurance and tenacity. 

“Imagine how much stronger you’d be if you just let go,” Jon says. “Your wasted potential pisses me off, honestly.” 

“Everything about you pisses me off!” she says in between swings. “You’re a worthless bastard. Why do you get to live while my friends are dead?!” 

“And you’re an orphan with no life purpose,” he says as he blocks. “Just admit that it hasn’t been revenge you’ve been seeking this entire time.” He knocks her saber out of her hand. When she reaches to pick it up, he grabs her by the hair and shoves her away. “You’ve been chasing after me for two years because, without your revenge, your life is meaningless.” 

Daenerys isn’t sure what summons the powerful electricity that surges through her body. Perhaps she was simply tired of being knocked down or perhaps his words struck true. 

Whatever the case may be, she lets go. 

Closing her eyes, she screams as the electricity flows through her hands. She can feel it connecting with someone, can feel them writhing and burning in her grasp. Although her eyes are closed, she can still see the red electricity vividly. 

For once, she feels powerful and in control. It isn’t a terrible feeling. 

When Daenerys opens her eyes, she sees Jon staring at her with something akin to pride. The fact that he’s still standing surprises her as she was sure it was his death she felt in the force. Then she sees the smoking body a few meters behind Jon. 

“No,” she croaks. 

There was someone else there, someone watching them from behind the trees. Did Jon know they were there this whole time? Regardless of if he knew or not—she’s certain he did—she should’ve sensed the person. But her attention was solely on Jon. She has tunnel vision when it comes to him. 

Daenerys tries to get up to see who the person is but she falls back into the snow. Her legs are wobbly from the mental and physical exertion. 

“Don’t worry,” Jon says casually. “It was just a nosy villager.” 

Daenerys chokes on a cry. “I-I killed them...I killed an innocence…” She digs her hands in the snow, trying to hold on to something, anything. Her peace of mind, her sanity. “I didn’t mean to…” 

“Yet you did it. You killed them by using force lightning.” Jon kneels beside her. She can feel the heat of his body. “You are aware of force lightning and who wields it, right?” 

Force lightning is a perversion of the force most notably used by the Sith, her master once told her. When she first arrived at the temple, she overhead stories of the horrible things her father did while he was emperor. He would burn people alive with his force lightning until their bodies were unrecognizable. 

Daenerys looks at the body in the snow. Their body is nearly charred. She wants to vomit. 

“You made me do that,” she says to Jon. “You knew they were there. You made me…” 

“I did,” Jon admits proudly. “I didn’t imagine you’d be this fun, Dany. But now I think I’ll keep you alive a little longer.” He touches the top of her head briefly then stands. “Until we meet again.” 

She can’t let him leave. 

Sitting up, she stretches out her hand and the lightning flows from her effortlessly. This time, she keeps her eyes open to make sure she hits her target. Quickly, Jon turns around and deflects her lightning with his own lightning that’s bright red just like hers. 

Frowning, Daenerys lowers her hand. “Who are you?” she asks. 

Her father’s lightning was red as is common for those born of the Targaryen bloodline. That’s one of the things that sets her family apart from others. It makes sense for her lightning to be red. 

But why is Jon’s the same color? 

Jon doesn’t answer her. He walks toward her and she readies herself for an attack that never comes. He simply waves his hand and she falls asleep. 

Sometime later, she awakes inside the fighter she stole, meaning that Jon carried her here. The thought of his hands anywhere near her is repulsive and infuriating. Yet again she lost. And Jon took another piece of her with him. She thinks of the person she accidentally killed and cries. Now there is innocent blood on her hands like his. 

At least their face won’t haunt her dreams, as well.

* * *

Daenerys was wrong about that. 

The faceless person she accidentally killed that day in the Godswood does haunt her dreams. They always come to her in different forms. Sometimes, they’re an elder. Other times, they’re a child. Their face is always blank, their sorrow is always intense. 

For the past three nights, she woke up screaming so she goes out for a drink to drown her problems. She goes to a pub near the temporary apartment that she shares with two bounty hunters. She met Missandei and Grey Worm a year ago during a job on Meereen. 

They were after the same bounty as her. It was a big one so they split the reward in the end. During the job, she got along well with the couple. Whenever she’s in the Essosi system she crashes at their place. The two are hardly home so it works out for them all. 

When she was taking jobs with the Resistance she squatted at their bases. But after the failure of her previous assignment, she’s only accepted work from underground clients. Despite how badly she bombed the assignment, the Resistance still contacts her, but she ignores every call. 

Daenerys only takes jobs now because she needs the money. Her days of haunting Jon aren’t over. She just needs to clear her head before going after him again. There are so many questions. Before she only wanted information that could help her find him. But after seeing his lightning form…

“What’s his name?” a man asks as he sits in the barstool beside her. His hair and beard are dyed purple. “The man you’re thinking of, that is.” 

“Who says I’m thinking of a man?” She downs the rest of her drink and waves the bartender over for another. 

The man gestures to the bartender. “The next one is on me,” he says, keeping his bright blue eyes on Daenerys. "I'm Daario. And you are?" 

"Daenerys." 

He’s handsome. Not nearly as handsome as…

Daenerys puts an end to that thought. In fact, she doesn’t want to think about Jon anymore at all. She hasn’t seen him since that day in the Godswood nor has she sensed him in the force. If it weren’t for her damn guilt, she’d be glad to forget all about him because nothing good will come from this. But she made a promise she intends to keep. 

Daenerys feels like being reckless tonight. 

“Nevermind the drink,” she says. “Want to come back to my place?” 

Daario doesn’t hesitate. He stands first and offers his hand to her. She has no idea what she’s doing or why she’s doing it. Men have hit on her before. Men have confessed their love to her after only days of knowing her and yet she’s going to take this man, who is obviously some sort of deviant, home? 

Jon’s voice fills her head. “Virgin,” he said when he listed off her secrets. 

Of all the things he said to her, that one really got under her skin for some reason. Daario is talking about how beautiful her hair looks in the moonlight and she’s thinking about how she should’ve had another drink before they left the pub. 

When they’re inside the apartment, she kisses Daario first to shut him up. It’s her first kiss. She’s never really thought about intimacy. Her single focus has been her training and her revenge. She decides she doesn’t like kissing at all. Why are Missandei and Grey Worm always kissing? Is she missing something? 

Daario’s tongue tastes like cheap alcohol and tobacco. He thrusts it in her mouth in a way that makes her squeamish. But she keeps doing it in hopes that it’ll get better. Her shirt is off before she even realizes it. Remembering the plain beige bra she’s wearing makes her self-conscious. One of his large hands squeezes her ass and she yelps in surprise. 

Daario laughs. “Which bedroom?” 

Daenerys shows him to her room. He tries to toss—literally toss her on the bed, but she stops him. 

“Give me a moment?” she asks, forcing a reassuring smile. 

“Take all the time you need,” Daario says, though she doubts he means it. He sits down on the bed and winks at her. 

Daenerys stumbles to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She leans against the door and sighs quietly. 

“What are you doing, Daenerys?” 

Daenerys jumps at the sound of Jon’s voice and instinctively reaches for her saber. But it’s in the bedroom. “How-” She looks at him standing there shirtless, hair damp, and black pants sitting low on his hips. “You’re not really here.” 

“Seems like we have ourselves a force bond.” Jon shamelessly stares at her bra. “Did I interrupt something?” 

She gives him a pointed look. “Did I?” 

“Shower,” he says absently, still staring at her intensely. “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you? That’s why it’s easy for me to make this connection.” 

“You were trying to reach me?” 

“I wanted to check in on my little Mouse.” 

“I’m not your-” 

Suddenly, Jon is standing right in front of her. Although he isn’t physically there, she can still feel the heat of his body. She was always told that she naturally burns hot. The same can be said about him. Without trying to, she stares at his toned chest and the V-cut that disappears into his pants. She’s had too much to drink. That’s all. 

“If you’re that eager for it,” Jon says, “wait for me. I’ll come to you right now. Don’t fuck some random guy for your first time. It should be special.” 

“What’s special about you, murderer?” she spats. 

Jon smiles in a way that makes her skin prickle. “We’ve shared so many special moments together, Dany. Remember when you experienced true pain and loss for the first time? Remember when you took an innocent life for the first time? I was there for those occasions. It makes sense that I should be there for this one.” 

Daenerys would spit in his face right now if he were here. Instead, she opens the door to the bathroom and walks out. She slams it in his face. 

“Ready now?” Daario asks her. 

“Yes.” 

She’s definitely doing this out of spite rather than desire now. It should bother her that Jon is standing there, watching them—he can see what she sees because he’s somehow in her head—but she wants him to watch. She wants him to see that her body is hers to do what she pleases with. He may have infiltrated her mind, but that’s as far as his infiltration will go. 

The only real bad part about this is that Daenerys has to pretend to enjoy it. Daario seems to only care about his own needs. He’s rough and impatient. She has to hold back tears when he enters her. 

“He’s hurting you,” Jon whispers in her ear and she swears she can feel his breath on her skin. 

It’s supposed to hurt, she tells herself. 

Of course, Jon hears it anyway. 

“No, he should be making sure it doesn’t hurt this much. Tell him how you want it, Dany.” 

She doesn’t know how she wants it. Besides, Jon can’t talk about anyone hurting her when he’s caused her more suffering and pain than anyone. 

“We were fighting then.” Jon reminds her. “It was fair game. I never hurt my lovers, though.” He smiles. “Unless they’re into that sort of thing.” 

Daenerys shuts him out. 

At least she tries to. She curls her hands in Daario’s hair and moans his name. It’s all for show but Daario seems pleased with her performance. He begins moving in her differently and for a moment it feels really good, she’s actually enjoying it. Then he speeds up for a couple of seconds then he shudders. He’s kissing her hair and breathing heavily when she realizes that that’s the end of it. 

Jon is no longer there when she opens her eyes. While Daario snores beside her, she goes to take a shower in hopes that it’ll ease some of the pain and discomfort. 

After her shower, she kicks Daario out. She prefers to sleep alone. 

-o0o-

Hours later, Daenerys awakes to the sound of a woman’s moans. She assumes Missandei and Grey Worm have returned from their job but embarrassingly enough she knows how Missandei’s moans sound. This woman isn’t Missandei. 

She opens her eyes and finds herself standing in a different bedroom; a different place entirely. The room is bathed in soft lilac light, there’s a sweet scent of oils in the air. She looks up at the purple aerial silk hanging from the ceiling. It looks as if private performances take place in the room. 

This is a pleasure house. 

Daenerys assumes it some sort of realistic dream until she sees Jon on the bed with a brown-skinned woman. The woman’s waist-length hair is lush and black. Daenerys immediately recognizes the woman as being a native of Dorne because of the snake tattoo on her shoulder. 

He and the woman are facing the edge of the bed. They’re both naked and sweating. He’s taking the woman from behind, holding one of her arms behind her as he presses down on her back. She’s moaning so loudly but it’s not for show. 

“Is this your idea of payback?” Daenerys asks, trying and failing to mask her discomfort. 

Jon looks up at her as if he were surprised to see her there. He doesn’t say anything but she hears his thoughts. _'Watching that poor performance inspired me to show you how it’s done.'_ He lets go of the woman’s arm and leans down to kiss her back then her shoulder. He cups her breasts, fondling them as he moves inside of her slow and deep. The woman starts moaning his name softly in a way that’s far too familiar for the situation. She gets the feeling that this woman is Jon’s actual lover. 

Daenerys looks away sharply. 

_‘Don’t be jealous,’_ Jon thinks. _‘Nym and I are only friends.’_

“I could care less. I pity that poor woman. She has no idea that she’s letting a monster touch her. “

Laughing, Jon moves his hands to Nym’s neck and chokes her as he fucks her harder. To Daenerys’s astonishment, the woman only laughs then moans louder. 

_‘You see, Nym knows exactly how I am. She accepts me. I wish you would, Dany. We’d be so good together, you and I.”_

What is he even talking about? Daenerys loathes him. And he sees her as nothing more than a plaything. She hasn’t given up her revenge, either. 

“You’re delusional.” She turns her back to the scene. “Enjoy yourself while you can, Lord Commander.” She refuses to speak his name. “I will be ending your life soon.” 

She breaks the connection. 

Back in her own bed, she stares blankly at the ceiling for several minutes. Then she slips her hand inside her panties. 

She’s wet. Wetter than she was with Daario. Wetter than she’s ever been. 

It’s humiliating. 

Thumbing her clit, she clenches her eyes shut and tries to think of Daario. The fantasy lasts for no longer than a second or two before Jon takes over her thoughts completely. She thinks of his glistening muscles twitching with every thrust, the way he bit his lip when he was fucking the woman deeply, and how she wishes it was her in Nym’s place. That last thought sends her right over the edge. Like with Daario, it’s over too quickly. But at least this time it was enjoyable for her. Before the moment passes she’s plagued with guilt. 

Disgusting, she thinks. She’s so fucking disgusting. 

How can she be sexually attracted to the man who killed her friends and her master, the man who manipulated her into taking an innocent life? 

All she’s doing is giving her night terrors more ways to guilt-trip her. The best thing to do at this point is to rid herself of Jon, not just for her lost allies, but for her sanity as well.

Killing him seems to be the only way. 

* * *

The force bond with Jon extends past them interrupting each other’s bedroom activities. Their visits are random and frequent to the point where she gets used to him popping up out of nowhere regardless of what kind of situation she’s in. 

They’ve seen each other naked more than once, though, unlike him her eyes never linger for too long. She’s seen him outside of his Sith robes, dressed in civilian clothes and vice versa. No matter what he’s wearing or what he’s doing Jon manages to look the part of sociopathic murderer perfectly. 

He gambles, he gets into bar fights, and he kills at will. 

No one knows him without his mask it seems. No one besides a few subordinates and herself. He never gives a name when he’s out on the town. He’s never around long enough to do so. 

Jon is up to something, that much is certain. Something that has nothing to do with the Jedi or the Sith. She wonders what that is. In time, she’s sure she’ll learn. She wants to ask him about his force lightning. But she isn’t sure she wants to know the truth. Sometimes not knowing is better. 

Daenerys believes she can use this bond to her advantage because Jon always unintentionally gives her hints on his locations. Force bonds like theirs are rare. Normally, she would only be able to see the other person, not their surroundings or their thoughts. But with Jon, she can see everything he sees and even read his thoughts while they’re interacting through the force. 

He’s rather good at hiding his true thoughts but there are moments when he lets things slip through the cracks. There’s a strong chance that he’s doing it intentionally as a way to lure her in. She’ll take the bait. Anything to help her find him when she’s ready to strike. 

The opportunity presents itself on a random night when she’s fast asleep. She’s dreaming about her mother when one of Jon’s memories takes over. In the memory, Jon is a young padawan at an all-boys Jedi temple. He has a small group of friends. They’re very close by the looks of it. It reminds her of her own friends. 

Did Jon lose his friends the way she lost hers? Is that why he’s like this? 

The memory flashes to Jon alone in a room crying, someone speaking to him from the shadows, telling Jon about how “they’ve” been lying to him about his parents, and that the dark side will show Jon the true way. Even though Daenerys can’t hear everything they’re saying she knows that this person lied to Jon, they manipulated him. And their poisoned words plant seeds in child Jon’s mind because what he does next are the actions of someone who has lost the battle to the dark side. 

There was an attack on Jon’s Jedi temple, the same as the attack on Braavos. Except that, Jon didn’t try to protect anyone. Instead, he helped kill them all. 

When his closest friend, a portly scribe by the name of Sam was taken as a hostage by one of the troopers to lure the Jedi master out, Jon assured his friend that everything would be okay and urged him not to move. Then he used his force lightning to incinerate Sam and the trooper at the same time. 

Daenerys jerks herself wake after seeing that; she’s had enough. She’s no longer on the couch in the den but in a woodland area. Jon is there. No, he’s the Lord Commander now with his black robes, billowy cape, and mask. 

“You murdered all of your friends,” she says, curling her lip in disgust. “How could you?” 

“They were dead weight.” 

“You were manipulated by the Sith! They’re using you!” 

“I know.” Jon removes his mask so that she can see his face. He must know that she prefers it this way. “Back then, I didn’t know but I’m a fast learner. They told me the Jedi killed my parents.” He chuckles at his own naiveté. “No, the Sith killed them because…” He looks at something behind her. “I’ll tell you the full story later.” Then he puts his mask back on. “It’s time for a cleansing...” 

Jon has never been this willing to be open with her. Daenerys is disappointed that their time has to be cut short. She wants to know more. She wants to know why he’s allowing himself to be used by the Sith. 

Daenerys doesn’t let the connection break. She follows Jon through the woods. Up ahead, she can see what looks like a campfire through the trees. 

“Where are you?” 

“I’ve found two of your Jedi friends. I’m here to kill them.” 

“No!” She reaches out for him but her hand passes through. “Lord Comman-Jon, no!” 

Jon stops at the call of his name. “If you use hyperspeed maybe you can save them.” He continues moving through the woods. “I’m on Qarth.” 

The connection breaks and Daenerys doesn’t waste a second. 

-o0o-

Daenerys knows she’s too late before she even lands on Qarth. She’s able to find the exact location of the carnage because Jon left a beacon just for her. The ‘beacon’ is a bonfire with the villagers’ corpses keeping the flame alive. 

Jon is worse than a monster. He’s by far the vilest human being in the galaxy. She isn’t even sure he’s human at this point. No, there are men much worse than him. But Jon is right up there. He has no regard for life whatsoever and yet...sometimes when she gazes into his eyes she wonders if there’s a different side, a saner side. 

There isn’t.

Daenerys has lived inside his mind for months. All he knows is hatred. 

The smell of death clings to her as she walks through the village, searching. For what, she isn’t sure. Jon is no longer here but she knows he left something for her. 

And he did. 

She finds his message written in blood near the body of one of the Jedi he butchered. The message confirms the thing Daenerys has tried to ignore ever since their duel in the Godswood; ever since she saw his red lightning. 

A heavy, metaphorical weight crushes her, sending her to her knees. She feels nauseous but she doesn’t purge her body. 

Jon’s message is written in Valyrian, her mother’s tongue. She could speak Valyrian before she could speak the common tongue. As shocking as his fluency is, it’s the actual message that knocks the wind out of her. He’s imploring her to meet him on Valyria; a dead planet in the Essosi system where her ancestors hailed from. Even still, that isn’t the unsettling part. 

What has Daenerys’s head spinning is who the message is addressed for. 

_Sodjisto_ means _aunt_ in Valyrian. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will wrap up this short story! Jon and Dany will have their final fight ;)


	3. The Last of a Dynasty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated.

The connection breaks before Jon can show Daenerys the finale. 

No matter. 

He still outperforms that worthless minute-man she bedded. He leaves the bedroom before Nym can question him about his sudden and unexpected visit. As he told Daenerys, they’re strictly friends. There’s never been any intimacy or romance between them; he’s incapable of those things. 

To Jon, fucking is simply fucking. 

It’s like drinking and gambling; it’s something he finds pleasurable and it also helps to pass the time. He isn’t above using it to his advantage either. Like tonight with Daenerys. This is just another way to toy with her before killing her. 

He was only teasing when he told Daenerys that her first time should be special. His first time was with an older woman the Supreme Leader brought to him because he wanted to desensitize Jon to ‘cravings of the flesh.’ And it wasn’t special. It might’ve been traumatic if Jon wasn’t already broken by that time. 

Now that he thinks about it, his first time mirrored Daenerys’s in some ways. He had an onlooker as well. His _benevolent_ master wanted to make sure his order was carried out. The sick old fuck probably enjoyed watching. The other times after that were just as insignificant. They were a means to an end like every aspect of his life. Even his ‘friends’ aren’t truly friends considering he’d kill them if they stood in the way of his goals. 

When Jon began this journey, he shed layers of himself, of the boy who smiled, laughed, loved, and hoped. All he knows now is hatred and the suffering he inflicts on others. 

Daenerys’s fake moans fill his head. He tramples on the memory, dismissing it from his mind. 

Jon isn’t jealous. 

Being jealous implies that he actually cares about the little mouse, and he doesn’t. She’s fun to play with, that’s all. Her speeches about morality are so adorable because she believes in right and wrong instead of recognizing that the world is grey, not black and white; at least she likes to pretend she does. 

Initially, he found her dull, boring. Then she fell for his manipulation and killed that random villager. Gods, the look of despair on her face when she realized she’d missed her true target and killed an innocent bystander was as satisfying as a sexual release. 

Jon smiles at the memory. She makes the best facial expressions. It makes him want to spend hours torturing her until she’s a shell of her former self. 

When he saw her force lightning that day in the Godswood, how it was the exact color as his own, he instantly knew that his prior suspicion was correct. Daenerys is the former Emperor’s daughter, the daughter of his grandfather. 

His father always believed his mother and siblings died with his father, but there were times when his father would swear he felt them in the force. He went searching for them countless times. It was when he was returning from a search that the Supreme Leader attacked their home. 

Had Jon met her before the Supreme Leader got to him, he would’ve been overjoyed to know he had family left. But now she’s just another corpse to serve as the foundation for the new galaxy. 

“I need you to do something for me,” Jon says. 

Oberyn Martell, an infamous arm’s dealer, smiles slyly. He hits the small, oak pipe he’s holding, blowing out a cloud of sweet, blue smoke. “You’ve already had my daughter yet you want more,” he says in his thick, Dornish accent. 

Even though Jon was born and raised on the planet, the accent never stuck with him. He has too much of his mother in him. The drawl Winterfell is known for rolls off his tongue when he speaks. If he’s speaking Valyrian, which he rarely does, he almost sounds like his father, but there are still hints of Lyanna in his voice. 

“Do you deny it?” Oberyn asks, squinting his eyes. 

Jon has had Oberyn’s daughter, his niece, and almost the man’s girlfriend. But Oberyn doesn’t care about any of that, he’s just being difficult for the sake of it. 

“When did you become a concerned parent?” Jon asks, smirking. “Cut the shit. I’ve got a job for you. I’ll pay.” 

Oberyn cuts the shit because money is the only god the man serves. With money, he can maintain his hedonistic lifestyle and pay the high taxes the First Order has placed on the major planets. 

“Use all of your connections and locate a purple-haired fucker by the name of Daario. He has a gold tooth and a blonde mustache.” How could she let a ridiculous looking cunt like that touch her? The bar must be in a black hole. “When you find him, send me his location. I’d like to have a word with him.” 

“Is there a reason why you’re looking for that smuggler?” Oberyn knows Jon better than most. He knows there won’t be much talking between him and Daario. 

Jon assumed Oberyn would already know scum like Daario and he was correct. Birds of a feather and all that. “Is there a reason why you’re so talkative tonight? Did you miss me?” 

“Of course I have, Jacaerys. Your visits come less and less with each year.” 

Hearing that name spoken by someone other than his parents makes him bristle. Oberyn only gets chummy with him when others wouldn’t dare because the man has known him long before he donned the mask and went by Lord Commander, long before he lied and told everyone that his true name was Jon. 

When his parents fled and wed in secret, it was Oberyn who helped them build a new life in Dorne. One could go so far as to say that Oberyn is like a godfather to him, but that isn’t true. Jon already has a godfather, and he isn’t some promiscuous criminal. Well, he isn’t anything anymore. 

Arthur Dayne was killed when he refused to give away his parents’ location; he remained loyal and brave to the very end. Unfortunately, the Supreme Leader forced his way inside of Arthur’s mind and stole the information. During his earlier training, Jon would catch glimpses of Arthur’s torture. The man didn’t scream once. 

Still, seeing him like that, dying the same way his mother did...

Like a crescendo, his anger begins to rise. He really needs to release this tension. Soon. Sex isn’t going to do it. It only gives him a temporary peace of mind. But killing, killing quiets the noise in his head. He needs to make someone bleed. 

He looks at Oberyn, the blue smoke filling the space between them. “Call me that again and I’ll order a firing squad to come in and redecorate the place.” 

“There’s no need for threats.” Oberyn, with all of his resources, connections, and influence in Dorne is no match for someone backed by the First Order, and he knows it. “I’ll find this smuggler for you. No charge.” 

Jon turns to leave. 

The blue smoke is irritating him further, and he’s eager to leave Dorne. He can never come here without thinking about things he shouldn’t be thinking about. Lingering on the past too often will only make it easier for the Supreme Leader to sense his true intentions. 

There’s no fun in giving the game away too soon. 

“You look like Rhaegar more and more each time I see you.” 

The words hit Jon’s back as he’s stepping out the door. He doesn’t acknowledge Oberyn’s words and he ignores how hearing that makes him feel as though he were floating. His father was a remarkable man. His parents were remarkable people. 

It was hard for Jon to plant those false stories about his father being a nameless drunk and his mother a bed slave. Tarnishing their memory like that never sat right with him but he isn’t above setting aside personal feelings for his overarching goals. He likes to keep people guessing about him and to throw people off his scent. He bet Daenerys thought she had him all figured out. Her naivete is nearly as upsetting as her self-righteousness. 

His elation over the comparison to his father is short-lived. If his father could see what he’s become he’d be highly disappointed. His mother would be as well. But they’re dead. He won’t let the dead judge him. 

Is that why Daenerys is so adamant about her silly revenge? Does she want to appease the dead friends who live inside her head? If she instead focused on channeling the immense power she possesses he would’ve had a harder time that day in the Godswood. 

Guilt and remorse are foreign to him because to Jon, he isn’t doing anything wrong. Daenerys thinks he’s evil. What he truly is, is necessary. The Jedi and the Sith need to cease to exist in order to fix this world. In the grand scheme of things, Jon is saving this wretched galaxy. 

So what if innocent blood is shed? What are hundreds to billions? 

* * *

Daenerys comes to him again. 

It isn’t intentional on his behalf like that time with Nym so he’s genuinely surprised when she pops up in the middle of him racking up on the money he’d won during a poker game. Gambling is one of those things Jon is naturally good at. 

Does he use mind tricks to cheat from time to time? 

Possibly. 

Daenerys is standing behind the guy Jon just swindled, wearing her usual Jedi attire; beige tunic, creme pants, brown knee-high boots, and that long braid that pisses him off for some reason. Her hair should be wild and free, he thinks. Then again, perhaps that’s just a little bit of his mother complex rearing its ugly head. 

His mother always wore her hair down. If he closes his eyes long enough he can see it and her face clearly which is why he hates sleeping. He hates seeing his mother smiling and laughing, screaming and bleeding. 

“I’m not in the mood for this,” Daenerys says, crossing her arms and glaring at him. She’s so unintentionally funny. “Stop bothering me.” 

‘Don’t flatter yourself, little mouse,' he thinks his reply so that no one in the lounge will think he’s mad. ‘This one wasn’t on me.’ There’s a small cut on her face and a bit of dirt on her chin. ‘Working hard?’ 

“Are you?” she bites back, treating his innocent question like an insult. 

Daenerys is always doing that. Answering his questions with questions. If he were genuinely interested in her answers, he’d be offended. Soon, she’ll start reminding him of her silly goal to kill him. Wash, rinse, repeat. He’s also not in the mood for this tonight. 

“Thanks for the money, boys,” Jons says to the obviously disgruntled men as he stands and collects his winnings. He pockets it. 

When he walks away, Daenerys appears in front of him, still glaring. Then her eyes widen. A second later, one of the men Jon was playing with taps him on the shoulder. Jon was expecting the punch that comes next. But he didn’t evade it. It’s been a while since he’s been punched. He kind of misses it. 

For a large guy, the man’s hits are weak, however. And that pisses Jon off because he gave this fucker a freebie and that was all he had. Jon fists his hands in the man’s shirt and jerks him forward for a headbutt. Well, it’s more of a facebutt. He breaks the man’s nose and sends a tooth flying. The man passes out too. 

It’s over quickly.

Far too quickly for his liking. He wanted a good fight. 

Disappointed, Jon tosses the man’s limp body to the floor. He Looks over his shoulder to see if anyone else is interested in trying their luck. 

There aren’t any takers. 

How boring. 

He leaves the lounge. Daenerys is still following behind him probably trying to figure out where he is. Smiling to himself, he leads her down a dark alley where neither of them can see anything. He only knows she’s still there because he can sense her. 

“I thought you weren’t in the mood for this,” he says. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t kill that man, monster.” 

She can’t possibly think those childish insults actually hurt him. For years, the Supreme Leader has talked down to him, treated him like a fucking stepping stool, and taken advantage of him in more ways than one. There’s nothing anyone can say or do to him. Nothing hurts him anymore. 

Jon taught himself how to endure even when his parents were still alive. They never lied to him about the situation they were in. He’d always known that they were being hunted. At least Daenerys can relate to that part of his upbringing.

From his peek inside her mind, he saw that she’d been on the run before she could even walk. Yet she doesn’t act as if any day could be her last. She’s either overconfident or suicidal. 

“Why did you bring me here?” she asks, a hint of apprehension in her voice. 

Smiling, he walks to where her presence is strongest. “Afraid of being alone in the dark with me?” He can feel the heat coming off her body as though she were really there. 

His hand twitches. 

He wants to reach out, touch her hair and caress her neck before putting his hands around her throat and choking the life out of her. If she were here, that’s what he’d do, he tells himself. Although, he’d want to see her face when he kills her. He imagines she’ll look pretty even then. 

“I have nothing to fear from someone who’s only in my head.” 

It’s dark but he can see her face so clearly. He bets her lilac eyes are as hard as crystals, her plump lips are pinched together, making them look thin and unappealing, and she’s probably ghosting her hand over her saber, prepared to fight at any moment.

“Yet you’re haunted by your dead friends.” He wishes he could see her facial expression when he says that. He bet it’s priceless. “And let’s not forget the innocent in the Godswood.” 

“Do you get off on being an insufferable bastard?” 

“Yes,” he says, leaning in, knowing that she’ll be able to feel the difference in the space between them. “Yes, I do get off on being an insufferable bastard. Do you want to know what else gets me off, little mouse?” 

“I don’t care. I only care about your imminent death,” Daenerys says. 

“Is that what you were thinking about when you touched yourself the other night?” 

There’s a shift in Daenerys’s energy. Damn, Jon wishes he could see how flustered she is right now. 

“I wasn’t thinking of you at all,” she says. 

This is too easy. He was only making an assumption and yet she told on herself. 

“So you did touch yourself the other night?” he asks. 

The connection breaks. 

Daenerys is definitely the one who broke it. 

For the first time in a very long time, Jon lets out a genuine laugh. His laughter dies once he’s out of the alley and walking on the crowded sidewalks of Pentos. 

* * *

Daenerys takes after her mother in the looks department. 

He learns that a few weeks later when he dreams of one of her memories. He also learns that his uncle Viserys was killed by the woman who was hiding the late Emperor’s family in her basement. The woman was afraid that Viserys was Aerys incarnate so she poisoned him.

From the bits and pieces he’s seen in Daenerys’s mind, he believes the woman mistook a justifiably angry child as a madman in the making. 

It was Daenerys who found her brother, lying in a pool of his own vomit and blood. She found the woman there with him as well. She tried to explain herself to Daenerys as if a child would understand why she felt compelled to kill her older brother. 

Jon can feel Daenerys’s rage as though he were there with her in that exact moment. His grandmother, Rhaella, walked in on Daenerys killing the woman with red lightning. After taking one look at her dead son, his grandmother allowed Daenerys to kill the woman. 

He assumed that day in the Godswood was the first time Daenerys used force lightning but it would appear she suppressed this memory.

No, it was hidden from her. 

After that incident, Rhaella shaved Daenerys’s head and dressed her in her dead brother’s clothes then they began their journey to Braavos. 

Jon forces himself to wake up. 

He finally gets a night without dreaming of his past just to dream of hers. At least he got to see what his grandmother and uncle looked like. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t get the sight of his fifteen-year-old uncle lying dead on the floor out of his head. He can still hear Rhaella’s gut-wrenching screams; the sounds only a loving mother could make at the sight of her dead child. 

He was wrong for assuming Daenerys’s first taste of loss and despair was when he attacked Braavos. She’s known it all her life. The stronger their force bond grows the more he realizes they’ve lived similar lives, though, they've chosen different paths. 

Daenerys finds solace in being a Jedi because she thinks it makes her different from her father, better than him.

Jon walks the dark path to do what his father was too soft-hearted to do. 

Even as a Sith, Rhaegar was soft. 

Then again, those are the Supreme Leader’s words.

Jon saw his father wield a saber and he saw his father cradle an injured bird in his hand delicately without an ounce of ill-intent. The man could walk the path of light and dark as easily as one crosses from one sidewalk to the other. Jon thinks that’s a show of true mental strength.

Barristan probably sealed the memory of Viserys’s death in Daenerys’s mind to spare her the trauma and to also hide her true power from her. The old man had no right to do that. Jon’s happy he killed him. 

If the Jedi and the Sith orders didn’t exist, he and Daenerys would still have their family and so would countless others around the galaxy. Why can’t anyone see how poisonous the force is? 

Killing Daenerys would be a service. 

All she’s doing is running around carrying all this misery. She can’t move forward, even if she succeeded in killing him because their level of trauma is permanent, it’s bone deep. She’ll never escape what haunts her. 

Unable to go back to sleep, he goes to the fitness arena on the upper level of the Dreadnought. He swims laps in the pool until the emotions conjured by the dream are nothing more than an aftertaste. Soon they’ll wash away for good. 

Jon’s heading back to his quarters when Oberyn calls to let him know he’s found Daario on Lys. Now he can have some real fun. 

* * *

Finding Daario is easy. All he has to do is follow the scent of the living, breathing embodiment of disappointment. 

The tacky, forever grinning man is inside a high-end club that caters strictly to homosexuals. If Jon hadn’t grown up in Dorne where bisexuality and interspecies relationships were common, he might’ve felt uncomfortable by the various sexual acts he walks in on. 

He barely bats an eye. 

Heads turn as he passes. Probably because he went out of his way to dress for the occasion. No one would dare come to Lys looking like something washed up so he put a little effort into his appearance despite the short visit. His outfit is nothing more than black slacks and a black button-down with the top two buttons undone. He supposes it’s all about how the clothes fit and they fit him well. 

Sitting off in a corner, Jon sticks to the shadows, watching and waiting. It’d be poor timing if Daenerys decided to drop in now, but he wouldn’t mind her seeing Daario die. Perhaps that’ll teach her not to bring stray dogs to where she lays her head. 

Why does he care so fucking much?

It’s simple. 

Jon wants to kill every single person Daenerys is involved with regardless of how insignificant the relationship is. He wants to break her. He wants to see those beautiful lilac eyes turn yellow by her immersion into the dark side. 

That’s the excuse he gives himself, at least. 

Truth is, Jon doesn’t know why he’s here. It isn’t like him to be impulsive. His level-headedness is the reason why his eyes remain grey instead of turning yellow despite his full acceptance of the dark side. He’s in full control of the dark side, it doesn’t control him. But as of late he’s been slipping. 

Daario gets rejected by the young guy he was trying to woo. All the purple hair dye and gold teeth in the galaxy can’t make a bucket of sand intriguing, it would seem. At least someone has some sense where the purple-haired fuck is involved. 

Come to think of it, Daario doesn’t appear to swing that way. Jon gets the feeling he’s here for strictly business. Perhaps he’s fishing for a scapegoat or someone to help him with a job. Lys is also a hunting ground for that sort of thing because most times the people that come here do so in secret, meaning if they disappear, their loved ones won’t know where to go sniffing. 

When Daario leaves the establishment, Jon follows him out the door but at a distance. Two men try to approach him as he’s leaving. He ignores them, not wanting to take his eyes off Daario for even a second. 

It seems like being rejected really put Daario in a sour mood. He’s talking on the phone, cursing someone out as he opts for traveling through the back alleys rather than the main street. Assuming the man has noticed he’s being tailed, Jon takes the opposite alley instead of following directly behind Daario. 

Jon knows how to play cat and mouse games. Just like he knows Daario is probably waiting in the other alley for him to reveal himself. The man isn’t as dumb as he looks. He’d have to have some sort of sense to be a smuggler, after all. 

This is taking longer than Jon intended. So, he climbs the fire escape of a building, crouching low as he moves across the roof to the alley he last saw Daario enter. Up here, it’s easier to see so he has the advantage. As he expected, Daario is facing the mouth of the alley holding a blaster. 

Jon estimates the distance from the roof to the ground. It’s not too bad. He jumps. Daario looks up before he lands and aims the blaster at him. Using the force, Jon waves it away. He lands on top of the man and they tumble to the ground. Quickly, they break apart, putting distance between them. 

“Who hired you?” Daario asks as he stands. “I’ll double whatever they’re paying you.” 

Slowly, Jon rises from the shadows. “I just hate the way you look, that’s all,” he says. 

“Son of a bi-” 

Jon punches him in the face. He’s missed this. He’s missed using his fists. Feeling the smuggler’s face crack and warm blood wet his hand is so rewarding. 

At first, he planned to use his saber to finish the man off. But then he remembers Daenerys’s pained expression when this waste of space was inside of her. She wasn’t enjoying it obviously. The thought of her pretending otherwise pisses him off further. 

Jon completely snaps. 

He blackouts like he used to when he first arrived at the Jedi temple as a child. When he comes to, he’s standing at the foot of Daenerys’s bed, his knuckles bruised, his hands dripping blood. His heart is racing, he’s breathing heavily, and he feels caged. He wants to shed his skin, he wants to run, and he wants to disappear all at once 

Then there’s Daenerys who’s sleeping with such a peaceful expression he hardly recognizes her. This is the first time he’s visited her while she slept. Since she isn’t even awake, it’s obvious that he initiated the connection. 

But how? He wasn’t even mentally aware. 

She almost looks harmless like this. He knows better, though. She’s far from harmless. When they fought in the Godswood, he had every intention of killing her. Had her force lightning been any other color, he would’ve. 

Jon walks to the side of her bed, drawn to her like a moth to the flame. Staring at her tranquil expression helps his breathing settle, and the storm in his mind clears. He isn’t sure how he ever thought she was a boy. 

Then again, he’s seen androgynous boys before and back then Daenerys was scrawny. She wasn’t curvy the way she is now and her chest was as flat as his was. Honestly, she’s the kind of woman he’d pursue under different circumstances. 

If he were sane and wasn’t so goddamn sadistic and self-absorbed he’d—

Jon curses under his breath. 

What in the fuck is he thinking? There are no ‘what ifs’ for him. Or her. Nothing can change the path they’ve already taken. Nothing can mend his broken mind. Not even a pretty little mouse. 

It’s her fault that he had a moment of weakness.

It’s her fault that he devoted time and effort to hunt down someone as insignificant and uninteresting as Daario. 

Jon hovers his hands above Daenerys’s neck, imagining what it’d be like to kill her once and for all. She’d fight him until the end but he would overpower her. He can see it so vividly. Her eyes bulging and watering, her nails clawing into his arms and face, her whimpers and cries as she struggles aimlessly. 

He doesn’t want to do it that way, he decides. 

She’s a Jedi. She deserves to die like one. 

He breaks their connection. Back in the alley, he can hear Daario slowly dying at his feet, gurgling blood and gasping for air. Jon crushes his head with his foot to put an end to the nuisance. 

No more games. Daenerys has outlived her novelty. 

They should end this on their home planet. He can’t think of a better final resting place for her.

* * *

Stealth jobs, as Daenerys has learned, are the worst jobs with the best payouts. She can support herself financially for two months off the money she makes from completing a stealth job.

Is there a high risk of sustaining major injuries, and possible death? 

Most certainly. 

There’s also the issue of the outfits she’s usually thrown in. Speaking of, Daenerys discreetly shifts in her seat. The form-fitting gown fits her a tad too tightly, and don’t get her started on the cleavage. She’s had to stop herself from tugging at the top of her dress in an attempt to cover exposed skin. But that would show everyone that she’s insecure and her goal is to appear confident in order to nab her prey. 

The thing is, Daenerys is always hired for specific stealth jobs, the ones that are often called “honey pot” missions. In those cases, it’s her looks they want instead of her saber.

The first time someone approached her for this kind of gig, she rudely refused because she thought she had to actually sleep with her target. Then one of the veterans in the field showed her the ropes, showed her how to reel the targets in and then take them out. 

The woman had to teach Daenerys how to he sensual and seductive, something she lacked severely. Those learned skills are only used for jobs, however. 

Perhaps if she’d been seductive her first time would’ve been better. Daenerys drowns the thought with a martini. She probably shouldn’t be drinking but thinking of that makes her want to drink herself into a deep slumber. 

Over the brim of her glass, she sees her target eyeing her with interest. It took him long enough. Smiling coyly, she averts her gaze and pretends to be interested in the Blackjack game that’s underway. 

Her target is the owner of the casino, though, to the ignorant he’s nothing more than another patron here to try his luck. The man likes to blend in with the crowd and observe. He’s more than likely trying to sniff out cheaters. She hears he has a thing for torturing them. 

Cheaters aren’t the only people he likes to torture either. Daenerys knows his interest in her is more than sexual. She knows he’s probably already thinking about slipping her a drug and taking her to his twisted playroom. 

The reward requests that he be brought in dead or alive. As a Jedi, she always takes the latter route. Despite how badly she wants to end the man for the countless women he’s raped and murdered, she won’t break her code of killing unnecessarily. 

The faceless person from the Godswood appears in her mind. Her hand trembles and she nearly spills her drink. 

Daenerys shuts the image out of her mind. Now isn’t the time for that. She counts to ten then looks at her target again. As expected, he’s heading toward her with two drinks in his hand; one of them definitely contains drugs. 

Good, she thinks. They can get this over with. 

Of course, things can’t go that smoothly for her. Before her target can reach the table, Jon appears in front of the man. She’s too annoyed to notice anything but his stupid face. 

‘Not now,' she thinks. 

Disregarding her, Jon approaches the table, staring at her with an unreadable expression. His gaze makes her more uncomfortable than the tight dress does. She wonders if there’s something on her face. The way he's looking at her suggests that there is something indeed on her face. 

The last time she checked her appearance she looked fine. She never wears makeup so mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick are things to get used to. Perhaps he’s surprised to see her in anything other than a neutral color. Her red gown is certainly an eye-catcher. 

‘Go away. I’m working,’ she thinks again. 

Jon says nothing he just keeps heading in her direction. Over his shoulder, she can see that her target has stopped walking. He’s standing there glaring at her. No, she realizes. He’s glaring at Jon. 

But how can he see Jon? 

“You’re a difficult woman to find,” Jon says, touching the ends of her hair that flows down her back in a stream of curls. She stiffens when she can _feel_ his touch. “Don’t make a scene.” He whispers. 

Daenerys is too stunned to make a scene or do anything. 

That’s why Jon didn’t respond to her thoughts earlier and that’s why her target can see him. 

He’s actually here. 

Now that she knows that, she looks at him fully, taking in his tailored suit and how his hair is slicked back, allowing her to see his jawline and high cheekbones better. 

Fuck him. 

Fuck him for looking this good while also being the worst piece of shit in the galaxy. Although her target may be nastier she’ll always think Jon is evil incarnate. 

“Why are you here?” she asks, masking her annoyance and frustration. 

“You stood me up on Valyria.” Jon makes a wounded expression that’s all for show. “I waited for you and you never showed.” 

The thought of him waiting for her for hours just for her not to show makes her smile. 

“I do not answer your summons, Lord Commander.” She also has no interest in hearing what he has to say; she doesn’t want to face the truth. “Now, leave.”

“Walk with me,” Jon says, burning a hole in the side of her face with his intense eyes. 

Daenerys smiles sweetly as she brings her glass up to her red lips. “Piss off,” she says before drinking. 

Jon returns her smile, just as sweetly. Leaning over, he whispers, “Walk with me or I’ll order an airstrike to kill every single person in here.” 

If he were a bluffing man, she’d tell him to have at it. But Jon isn’t a bluffing man. And it doesn’t matter that an airstrike would possibly kill them as well. 

She walks with him.

When he touches her elbow, she recoils from his touch as though he burned her. The contact couldn’t have lasted longer than a couple of seconds yet her skin still tingles in the area he touched and she can still feel his hand on her. She hates it. She hates how her body reacts to him. She walks ahead of him, needing the distance and to change their current dynamic. His threat isn’t going to make her submit to him completely. 

“How did you find me?” Daenerys asks once they’re standing in a far corner away from any eavesdropping or curious glances. 

“Does it matter?” Jon glances at the top of her dress—at her cleavage then back at her face, directly at her eyes. He’s such an intense person. Now she kind of wishes he was wearing his mask. “I found you.” Another glance at her cleavage. “Nice dress.” 

She wants to look away, finding his intensity unsettling. But she doesn’t because she doesn’t want him to think he’s won in some way. 

“What do you want?” she asks curtly, ignoring his compliment. “As you can see I’m busy.” 

“I was under the impression that you were eager to kill me. I gave you an invitation to do so, but you ignored it.” 

Daenerys watches her target disappear down a hallway that probably leads to his office. She’s missed her window of opportunity. If she wants to catch him she’ll have to wait around for a couple of more hours or try again tomorrow night. She has a week-long deadline so she could probably swing it-

Jon steps in her line of sight, returning her attention back to him. “After chasing me for years you’re avoiding me. Are you that afraid of hearing the truth?” 

That’s exactly what it is. Daenerys is afraid of the truth. If Jon is truly related to her that would mean that what her peers at the Jedi temple said was true.

Targaryen blood is poisoned. 

“Do you think it’s going to change anything?” she asks, cold and detached. “You will die by my hands regardless of who your father was.” 

“Words are wind, Dany. Come to Valyria and avenge your dead friends and master.” 

The sooner she kills him, the sooner she can have a somewhat normal life. Normal. What does that even mean to the daughter of the late Emperor? Normalcy was never meant for her. Still, Daenerys is tired of her nomadic lifestyle. She wants a home, she wants stability. She can’t have that while Jon lives. 

“Because of you this job will go on for another day or two,” she says. “I will meet you when it’s done.”

Jon doesn’t appear to believe her. But he says nothing. He only turns around and walks away. The action was so sudden that she’s left standing in that corner with a dumbstruck expression. From the entire exchange, only the compliment on her dress sticks with her. 

Daenerys can no longer sense Jon in the casino so she leaves the corner.

For the next couple of hours, she moves from table to table, pretending to have the time of her life while slowly dying on the inside. When her target doesn’t show his face again, she calls it quits for now. Her transportation for the night is a sleek starship meant for nights like this, not combat. She wants to exchange it for her own fighter immediately. Being out there without any guns makes her feel vulnerable. 

Daenerys is boarding her ship when she sees that someone left her a gift. Anyone passing by would’ve missed it, but she has a habit of checking her surroundings before she boards. 

The gift is her target. Gagged, bound, and dead. 

A piece of paper is peeking out of the top of the man’s tuxedo pocket where a handkerchief would normally be. She almost tosses the body in her ship and ignores the note. But damn her curiosity. 

_Ūndegon ao va Valyria_

She rips the paper into pieces and the wind carries it away. 

“See you on Valyria,” she says the same words that are written. 

* * *

They say the air on Valyria is toxic, that breathing in even a small amount would cause a person to turn into stone in a matter of minutes. 

Some even say that the planet is inhabited by stone men who survived the rapid transformation but lost their mental capabilities along with their humanity. Now they’re mindless, soulless fiends who kill anyone who sets foot on the planet. 

Of course, those are just stories told to frighten children.

In truth, Valyria is considered a dead planet due to its frequent volcanic activity. It’s uninhabitable and unstable. Every eruption isn’t cataclysmic, but the one that forced her ancestors to flee was. There are still remnants of that disaster. From afar, Valyria is a red planet with specks of green and a half covered in black stone or _dragon glass._ There are mountain ranges made from decades of lava build-up, and the lakes and rivers steam and bubble from the planet’s overheated core. 

At any moment, one of the many volcanoes can erupt. It’ll add a thrill to their coming fight, Daenerys thinks. This is truly the end. She can taste it in the air. 

Jon is waiting for her on the summit of a flat mountain top high up in the clouds, free of his mask and cape, in black from head to toe per usual. The mountain overlooks a large, red water basin that doesn’t seem as hot as the other body of waters. 

“What happened to your brother Viserys?” Jon asks as she approaches. “You rarely think about him.” 

Daenerys should be used to him catching her off guard by now. But that question is so random that she can’t help but be thrown off for a bit. 

“Are we here to fight or talk?” she asks removing her saber from the holster at her hip. 

Jon doesn’t remove his own saber. He keeps his hands behind his back, his expression calm. “Both,” he says. 

“I have no interest in talking.” 

Daenerys attacks first with a wide swipe of her saber. She isn’t foolish enough to think his lowered guard means an easy win, and she’s right to think so. Jon ignites his saber at the last minute but manages to parry. She attacks again, aiming at his left side. If he had a weak side, it’d be his left. But Jon doesn’t really have a weak side. He blocks her again and again. 

And that’s all he does. 

“You wanted me to come here so badly,” she says, moving in for another attack. “Yet you refuse to fight back!” 

“Is it that you don’t know what happened to Viserys or did you forget?” he asks, growing impatient. 

“What are you getting at?” She backs away from him, saber still raised. “Are you actually trying to have a conversation with me? Right now?" 

“So, you don’t remember. Looks like your master locked away that memory.” Jon lifts his saber, pointing it at her in a challenge. “I’ll break your body first. Then your mind will crumble. And maybe then you’ll remember.” 

That’s it. That’s the Jon she knows. She knew sooner or later he’d appear. 

The next time their sabers touch, it’s Jon who initiates the attack. It’s not as powerful as his attacks in the past, but she shouldn’t get used to that. He’s building up to something, she just knows it. 

Similar to their first real duel it starts with a pattern of parries and attacks as they both look for their opening. For all of her self doubt and Jon’s taunts, their ability with a saber is equal. She doubts the Jedi he killed on Qarth lasted as long with him as she does. 

“Since you don’t remember,” Jon says, blocking an attack aimed at his side then knocking her saber back with his own, “I’ll refresh your memory. Your mother sought the refuge of friends after your father was overthrown…” He ducks low and kicks at her feet. 

Jumping, she evades the kick and brings her saber down on his head. He blocks and she flips back to avoid his saber. She was too close. Had he connected, she wouldn’t have had enough time to block and would’ve lost an arm. Landing lightly on her feet, she quickly drops to one knee for support from his next attack. She blocks, knocking him back slightly. Then thrusts her saber forward. 

Jon parries. “...one of the friends, a widow, took you all in,” he continues. “She was one of the many who supported the Targaryen family for years.” 

A lot of friends took them in. Daenerys can’t remember any of their faces or their names. 

She stands and their exchange proceeds. 

He doesn’t miss a beat with his little story that sounds like the story of how every stay at her mother’s friends’ home went. They were treated like royalty despite being homeless and penniless. Despite their warm hospitality, Daenerys never felt welcomed and their stay was never long. 

“This woman saw in Viserys what she saw in your father, Aerys...” 

Hearing that makes Daenerys falter. She gives a weak attack as a result. Her carelessness could’ve ended her but Jon is fast enough to retract his saber before it connects with her neck. Then he backhands her; his way of telling her to pay attention. 

Licking the blood from the corner of her lip, she attacks again, harder this time. When she’s able to make an opening, she returns the slap. Jon hardly flinches. He has a high tolerance for pain she’s noticed. It makes her wonder what his training was like. She imagines it was grueling. 

“Where are you getting this information from?” she asks. 

Their fight has moved far too close to the edge of the mountain. If she keeps pressing forward, she could deal a critical blow and kick him over it. 

“From your mind,” Jon says. “These are your memories. You don’t remember this because your master locked them away.” 

Daenerys laughs dryly. “Master Selmy would never do that.” He would never intrude on her thoughts and manipulate her mind in that way. “That is a tool of the Sith to create brainwashed tools like you. You were fooled into believing the Jedi killed your parents. How can you side with the people responsible for their death?” 

“That woman poisoned Viserys,” Jon says, disregarding her entirely. “She poisoned your brother because she feared what he would become. Don’t you remember? You were the one to find him dead.” 

A grainy memory presses through her mind. A small, still body face down on the floor. A pool of blood and bile. Hurried excuses and pleas. 

Thinking of is hurts. It physically hurts her. She clutches the side of her pounding head and tries to force the memory back to wherever it came from. But it won’t go away. She raises her saber to block an attack. 

Jon comes at her mercilessly, attacking with both his saber and his words. “She killed your brother,” he says, moving fast; a blur of red and black. “Then tried to convince you that what she did was right. You didn’t care for her excuses…” He hits her saber out of her hand and catches it. Now he’s coming at her with both of their sabers. “All you knew was that your brother was dead…” 

As she flips and bends to evade the flurry of attacks, she sees that day clearly.

Viserys was poisoned. He died twitching and gagging. She walked in near the end of it, ignored the woman’s excuses, and released a powerful lightning attack that killed the woman and took out half of her home. 

That was her first kill. 

Daenerys doesn’t notice the tears on her face until she tastes the salt on her tongue. All this time, she thought Viserys died in the same starship accident that killed her mother. In certain parts of her mind, there are pieces missing. Master Selmy told her that was her mind’s way of protecting her. He never told her that he was the reason for the missing pieces. 

“The Jedi, the Sith— they’re both corrupt, Dany,” Jon says. He twirls the sabers in his hands as he presses forward. “They both manipulate in their own ways. Every hardship we and others around the galaxy have faced has been because of the force. My parents weren’t hurting anyone, they kept to themselves. Yet the Jedi shunned them and the Sith murdered them…” 

Whenever she ducks and misses one saber, there’s another coming for her immediately afterward. Daenerys flips backward, landing on her hands. She kicks him in the face and nearly loses a foot. But she retracts quickly enough.

Stumbling back, Jon chuckles. “You’re strongest when you channel your anger. Stop holding back!” 

Daenerys tries to shut out his words but they speak to her, to the anger she’s been holding in for years. She’d always had this rage inside of her. 

The resurface of Viserys’s death is proof of that. Her brother was short-tempered and bratty from years of living a pampered, privileged life with a cruel father ruling over him. But he didn’t deserve to die like that. In the years their mother looked after them, he’d improved exceptionally. 

He could’ve grown further, he could’ve been so many things. And her mother, her sweet mother didn’t die in a starship accident. That was just another one of Master Selmy’s lies. 

Yes, all of it is coming back to her. 

Her mother left her at the Jedi temple then she took her own life shortly after. Daenerys thought she’d only dreamed it. But she experienced her first force bond with her mother and it was short-lived. She saw her throw herself into an ocean. When he told Master Selmy about it, he told her it was only a dream. With time, she forgot about it entirely. Until now. 

The force just takes and it takes and it takes from her, from everyone. 

“Where’s your hatred? Where's your hatred for all that you've lost?” Jon’s voice slices through her thoughts. He rushes her, wielding both sabers flawlessly. "Show it to me!" he demands. 

Daenerys lets out a piercing scream and with it, all of her rage and her hatred are released. In the distance, a clap of thunder sounds followed by an eruption from one of the smaller volcanoes that’s still strong enough to shake the mountain beneath their feet. Jon is thrown back by a force push, the sabers flying from his grasp. 

She doesn’t bother retrieving her saber. She doesn’t need it anymore. 

Before he can get back to his feet, she rushes him. He sends a boulder her way and she explodes it with force lightning. Running through the bits and chunks of rock, she dodges the pieces he sends flying her way. His force lightning isn’t quite the same as her own. He uses a chain form that bounces from object to object. He uses it now to explode the chunks of boulder around her. 

Daenerys force pushes all of it out of her way, sending it in his direction. Of course, he evades the attack by pushing it all aside. But she wasn’t trying to hit him. She was only distracting him long enough for her to get close. 

She punches him in the mouth. He smiles a bloody smile and punches her back and then grabs her braid, wrapping it around his hand. When he yanks at it, she shoots a small blast of force lightning at his face, but he grabs her by the wrist and squeezes. She kicks him in the side and pulls away. 

The asshole was about to crush her wrist. 

She moves in again and they exchange blows. This is one of the few times she’s fought hand-to-hand. There’s something intimate about beating the shit out of each other. She knees him in the stomach and he punches her in the ribcage. A bone cracks but it doesn’t break. As if to make that happen, he tries to hit her there again but she blocks. 

“You’re the son Rhaegar had against our father’s wishes,” Daenerys says, putting distance between them. “I was told the baby died during childbirth with its mother.” 

“The Jedi didn’t want you to know you had family out there. The Supreme Leader didn't want me to know the same." 

Ah, so they’ve both been lied to and played like a fiddle. She doesn’t pity him. She can’t allow herself to. 

“Had they killed you too my friends would be alive,” she says, reminding herself of her purpose. 

Jon sighs. “I thought we were over the dead friends nonsense.” His hair is damp with sweat and sticking to his skin. There are cuts and bruises on his face and yet...he’s still pretty. “Come here," he says beckoning her forward. "I’ll make sure you see them soon enough, dear _Aunt_.” 

Daenerys aims a kick at his groin but he catches her leg and jerks her forward. When she’s close enough she slaps him. 

Then she kisses him and he kisses her back without a moment’s hesitation. They crash into each other, clinging on to the unexpected passion between them.

To call it unexpected wouldn’t be quite right because they aren’t kissing as if this is something that appeared out of thin air. This has always existed beneath the surface of their mutual hatred, steadily building and expanding until it became uncontainable. 

Back then, when she was with that man whose name escapes her, Jon told her to tell him how she wanted it. She didn’t know how she wanted it then.

Somehow she knows exactly how she wants it now. She pushes Jon away from her, and he closes the distance again, biting her lip. She can taste their mingled blood and sweat on her tongue, can taste his hunger for her. His touch still repulses her, however. Yet at the same time, that repulsiveness is arousing. She never realized that she was a glutton for punishment until now.

Yes, she’s terrible for allowing him to touch her with those hands that have taken countless lives. Yes, she’s a disgrace to her friends, her master, the Jedi. 

As a Jedi, she’s always been held to a higher standard than others. More is expected of her. She hasn’t been able to express her emotions or be the flawed human she is. It’s unnatural for humans to shut off their emotions, she's learned. They should be allowed to hate, to love, to feel. And that’s what she’s doing now.

Feeling. His calloused hands on her skin, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he bites down on the lobe, and his hardness against her stomach. 

Letting go isn’t so bad, she thinks. Not when it tastes this good. This is only half of it, though. It gets better than this. 

Daenerys fists her hands in his hair and tugs hard, pulling his head back so that their eyes meet. She doesn’t speak, allowing her eyes and body language to communicate for her. She doesn’t want to draw this out, she doesn’t want passion or intimacy from him. 

From the looks of it, Jon wants the same thing. 

They undress on their own. To allow the other to do so would be too intimate. She doesn’t drink in the sight of him fully nude and vice versa. They’ve already seen it all. She pushes him to the ground and his back hits it hard. He grunts and calls her a colorful name. 

“Shut up,” she says. She doesn’t want to hear him speak. 

Before he can sit up, she straddles him, taking his erection into her hand and lowering herself. It’s then that she remembers the pain she felt her first time. She isn’t afraid of the pain, she just wants to brace herself for it. She hesitates. 

Sitting up, Jon takes one of her nipples into his mouth. The way he bites and sucks on the nub has her arching her back, trying to press closer to him. Fighting him made her wet but his actions are making her wetter. She thought she was broken in that regard, that she could only experience true pleasure with her own hands. 

Jon proves her wrong. 

He brushes her hand aside. She tries to grab at his cock again but then he guides it inside her, breaching her tight, wet heat, and she cries out. It stings and burns yet in a delicious way. Groaning quietly, Jon presses his face in the crook of her neck and lets out a shuddering breath. She’s gripping around him in a near painful manner. The thought of hurting him turns her on just as the thought of him hurting her is also stimulating. She clenches around him, feeling his cock twitch in response. 

As if to spite her, he slams her down hard, fully impaling her. Tears sting her eyes. He slams into her again, the impact rattling her teeth, and tears fall. Jon licks a tear and she kisses him to see what her agony tastes it. It’s sweet and addicting.

Daenerys knows she shouldn’t indulge, she knows she’s dancing with madness, but he feels too good inside of her. Heat spreads throughout her body, smoldering like the heat from the erupted volcano. Every thurst has her toes curling and her thighs shaking. 

This is her nephew, she seems to realize suddenly.

Her own flesh and blood. Her brother's son. Jon's hands cup her ass, giving it a hard, stinging slap and she forgets all about their kinship. To hell with that. To hell with anything and everything outside of this moment. 

Not that she ever expected otherwise, but Jon isn’t gentle with her. 

He doesn’t wait for her to adjust to his size. He doesn’t kiss her tenderly and asks her to bear with him. He grips her ass with a bruising force, leaving indents with his thumbs as he thrusts into her viciously. She digs her nails into his shoulders, tearing skin, and matches his ferocity by rolling and bouncing her hips wildly. 

The scent of his blood wafts to her nostrils and she inhales it, becoming intoxicated by it. 

Gods, they’re fucking like mindless beasts. 

When he chokes her and fucks her deeper, her eyes roll into her skull. She bites her lips to hold in her moans, to hide how much she’s enjoying this. But her body betrays her. She’s wetter than before, dripping on his cock. The sounds their skin makes when their bodies collide is sickening. Even worse than that is how she orgasms with his hands still around her throat. 

Jon chuckles breathlessly. “You’re disgusting, Dany,” he says, still choking and fucking her roughly. “Cumming from having my hands at your throat and willingly fucking the man who murdered your new family. Getting wet from your nephew's cock." He slaps her ass again. "Who knew you'd be a proper slut?" 

“Fuck you, you worthless bastard.” She shoves him back, holding him there. She rolls her hips and he meets her with a thrust. “This is the only worth you have to me,” she moans. "It's all...you're good for."

Groaning, Jon throws his head back and lets her set the pace. Apparently, he also gets off from being talked down to. Is that with everyone or just with her? She has a feeling he’s more in control with others. Does Jon trust her? Is that the reason why he can close his eyes and lose himself in this moment? 

No. No, this isn’t about that. Jon doesn’t trust her. She doesn’t trust him. 

This is purely physical for them both. It’s a surface-level attraction. He’s probably thinking of how he’ll kill her once he’s had his fill, and she’s thinking the same. 

They’re far too close to the edge of the mountain that it should be concerning. Instead, it’s exciting. She’s always reckless and daring when it involves him. She’s happiest when she’s reckless and daring, though, she doesn’t like to admit that to herself. 

Looking out, she sees the lava flowing from the volcano that erupted earlier. It’s too far away to be a threat to them. She looks back at Jon and finds his eyes open. He’s staring at her, at her sweat slickened body. Slowly, his eyes travel over her, lingering on her breasts and staying on her face. Gone is the raging storm in his eyes. 

For the first time, she can see him and he sees her. 

Her hands on his shoulders slacken and he’s able to move; he could always move but he allowed her to pin him down. Jon sits up, circling his arms around her waist. She holds him as he fucks her slow and steady. The change of pace sets a new tone. One that makes her feels as though she were scrubbed raw. 

She’s happy he can’t see her face anymore. She doesn’t want to explain why she’s crying. She isn't even sure why this has moved her to tears. Perhaps it's because it's been so long since she's been held. 

“Your brother named me Jacaerys,” Jon says sometime later after he released his seed inside of her. 

They’re laying on their backs, still too close to the edge of the mountain. The volcano has quieted, its lava has begun the hardening process. Soon, the planet will have another small mountain. 

“Rhaegar was a Sith?” Master Selmy spoke so highly of him that she assumed he was a Jedi. Her mother never spoke of him or the life they fled. “But your mother was a Jedi.” 

“He changed for her, and she shared his views on how both sides were corrupt. They wanted a life away from it all. But all they got was tragedy and death.” 

Daenerys turns on her side, facing him. Their clothes are the only thing that protects her from the coarse ground. Discreetly, she pats around in her pockets. 

“They got to be together and have you,” she says once she finds what she’s looking for. “Their happiness may have been temporary but they had it.” 

Jon looks at her, his grey eyes calmer than she’s ever seen them. His guard is completely let down. “Dany…” He struggles for the words, pinching his brows together in frustration. “I...” 

“It’s okay,” she says, pressing her body to his. “It’s okay, Jacaerys. I know.” 

She can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “That name sounds better when you sa-” His words die on his tongue. 

Daenerys twists the knife in his gut then drags it across, opening his stomach. He pushes her away before she can cut too deep, but she yanks the knife out in time, spilling his blood on the ground. 

“I knew you wouldn’t expect me to not use my saber," she says rising to her feet. 

Clutching his bleeding stomach, Jon’s eyes bounce around skittishly. He isn’t afraid, though, he should be because the wound is fatal. If anything he seems genuinely hurt. Even at death’s doorstep, he won’t show that side of himself for too long, however

Chuckling, Jon tries to stand but falls back to his knees. “Who...who taught you that?” he asks. “Who taught you how to deceive?” 

Her "honey pot" mentor taught her a little but Jon had the biggest influence on her.

Daenerys smiles sadly. “You did," she tells him. "I learned from the best.” 

Jon manages to stand on wobbly legs. “I still won,” he says, staggering back. 

She reaches for his arms to keep him from falling over the edge. “How so?” She thought she would feel victorious. She feels empty. “You’re dying.”

“Your eyes…” Jon blinks hard, trying to remain conscious. He curls his fingers in her loose hair, wetting the strands with blood. “Your eyes look like mine now.” He smiles proudly. 

Too proudly for a dying man. 

“Goodbye, Jacaerys.” 

Daenerys lets him go and watches him fall over the edge. 

He disappears under the clouds so she isn’t sure if he dies before reaching the water. All she knows is that she can no longer sense his presence in the force.

She chokes back a sob. Standing alone on the mountain top with the bitter taste of ash on her tongue, she realizes that he was right. Victory is supposed to be sweet. There’s nothing sweet about this. 

In the end, he still won. 

* * *

He never reached the water. 

What no one knows is that the Supreme Leader values his prized pupil more than he’ll ever openly admit. Too much time and effort have gone into shaping Jon into a glorified killing machine. Whenever Jon leaves his ship, a medical droid is always on standby. It’s programmed to go to him if his heart rate drops below a certain level. 

Jon never needed the damn thing until that day on Valyria. He lost consciousness after he fell over the edge, and didn’t wake up for three days. 

When he did, the first thing he said was, “That fucking bitch. She got me good.” 

Then he was sedated and out cold for a week. 

Awake now, Jon lays on the medical table under the blinding light as a droid cleans his stitches. His stomach doesn’t hurt that much. Neither does the broken rib. As he’s said, nothing really hurts him anymore. At least not physically. During his training, he underwent various forms of torture to numb him to pain. 

However, there is discomfort in his chest. When Jon mentions it to the droid, it tells him that he has nothing to worry about, that he’ll make a full recovery. 

How strange, though. His heart aches when her blade never touched him there. 

“You disappoint me,” the Supreme Leader says as he enters the room. For him to grace Jon with his actual presence is an honor. Not. “Letting that woman defeat you. You would’ve died if not for my foresight.” 

“I am grateful to you,” Jon says, easily slipping into subservience. 

If he even thinks about how badly he wants this man dead his plans will be ruined. This little setback hasn’t changed anything. He’s learned a lesson that he’ll never forget, however. He’ll never underestimate Daenerys again; he’ll never be open and vulnerable with Daenerys again. 

“Keep it,” Tywin says dismissively. “I’ve come to discuss the Jedi you fought. She is the Emperor’s daughter, is she not?” 

“Apparently.” 

Tywin moves closer to the table, his yellow eyes boring into Jon’s face. “You knew yet you kept her from me.” He outstretches his hand. “What else have you been keeping from me?” 

“I wanted to toy with her before I killed her,” Jon quickly says. He can’t let the man peek inside his head. “I felt like she would be a potential threat. I didn’t think it was important enough to tell you.” 

“What have I told you about thinking for yourself? Your thoughts, your will, your _body_ belongs to me, to the dark side.” Tywin lowers his hand. “You will heal. Quickly. Then you will bring her to me.” 

“If I may, why do you want her?” he asks. 

“It’s not her I want but her blood.” The man smiles wickedly. “Her womb, rather. Targaryens are the strongest force wielders. She will prove valuable in the long run.” 

Ah, he wants a breeder then. 

Daenerys will never go for that, but the Supreme Leader has never cared about consent. 

The discomfort in his chest returns. Jon thinks about how her blade twisted in his gut, how cold her eyes were when she let him fall off the mountain; how beautiful she looked when she embraced the dark side for that brief moment. 

Gods, he wants to kill her for what she did to him. And killing her would be better than letting the Supreme Leader get his decrepit hands on her. 

But he has to admit to himself that he's incapable of killing Daenerys. He’s had too many chances to do so yet he let her live. He could’ve killed her that day on the mountain even after she stabbed him. He chose not to because…

Well, Jon doesn’t know why the thought of killing her makes him want to kill himself instead. There’s probably a better way to express that feeling but he’s terrible when it comes to expressing himself. He just wants Daenerys all to himself. He doesn't want the Jedi or the Sith to have her. During his recovery time, he'll have to come up with a way to ensure he gets exactly what he wants. 

In the meantime...

“As you command, Supreme Leader,” he says, not meaning a word of it. “I will bring the woman to you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	4. The End

Daenerys isn’t sure how long she stood there, naked and crying, but by the time she dressed and collected their sabers from the rubble Valyria’s sun had begun to set. She didn’t know where to go once she boarded her fighter. 

Where was one supposed to go after obtaining their long-sought-after revenge? Was she supposed to go home? She had no home, not really.

The apartment she shared with the bounty hunters held no personal items, no fond memories despite the countless nights she stayed up talking to Missandei and Grey Worm. She lived in the duffle bag she always took with her whenever she left. 

Missandei once told her that she acted as if she never planned to stay anywhere for too long. 

“You live here with us now,” Missandei said. “It’s okay to use the closet all you like.” 

Daenerys said that she would but it was a lie. She never wanted to recognize that apartment as her home because she didn’t want to acknowledge the bond she has with the bounty hunters; she didn’t want to give him more people to kill. 

But he’s dead now.

She killed him. 

Putting the fighter in auto-pilot, she clutches her chest and draws in a ragged breath. It feels as if she were being force choked all of a sudden. While the fighter floats aimlessly through the quiet, starry abyss she works to return her breathing to normal. 

It’s a difficult task considering she sees his face every time she blinks. And not the hateful face of the man who killed her friends and master but the calm and beautiful face of a man post-release. She thinks of his last words, the words he spoke before her blade pierced his stomach. 

_“Dany...I…”_

What was he going to say? She told him that she knew what he intended to say but that wasn’t the truth. She just wanted to be done with it already. The longer it took, the more her conviction chipped away. Now she’ll never know what he wanted to tell her. 

No. She can’t have any regrets. She can’t sympathize with him. One moment of humanity isn’t enough to cleanse all of his sins that are great enough to fill a chasm. He would’ve killed her had she not killed him first. 

Air fills her lungs again, the tightness in her neck and shoulders relaxes. 

Yes. He would’ve just killed her the first chance he got. She did the right thing despite how wrong it feels. Her friends and her master have been avenged and no more innocent lives will be lost to Lord Commander. 

She can’t say his name or think it, she realizes. Every time she tries to that hole in her chest widens. With time that hole will fill. 

Daenerys lands on the small outpost planet, Ghaen, and books a room for the night, though, she intends to stay for however long it will take for her to figure out what’s next. After a shower and seeing to her minor wounds, she tries to sleep and fails. 

Usually after a taxing duel, she’s exhausted beyond belief, especially after a duel with someone of his caliber. Instead, she’s restless and even a little fidgety. Tossing and turning only increases her unrest so she sits up in bed and tries to meditate. It’s been a while since she’s emptied her mind and found peace and clarity. 

His face is all she sees when she closes her eyes. 

Cursing, Daenerys gets out of bed. She thinks of taking her saber to the roof and doing some drills but decides against it. She doesn’t want to disturb the others lodging here. Setting her saber aside, she touches Jon’s— no, Jacaerys’s. That’s what Rhaegar named him. 

His saber feels no different than her own does when she holds it. She isn’t sure why she thought there would be a notable difference. If she were wise she would’ve tossed his saber over the cliff behind him. Yet she felt compelled to keep it. The same way she now feels compelled to ignite it and cast the small room in a red glow. 

She returns the saber to her bag. 

It’s not hers to keep.

* * *

Since she has no intention of returning to Valyria she sets her course for Dorne to bury Jacaerys’s saber. It’s more than he deserves but she’s doing this for her brother and for the boy her nephew once was. 

Her initial plan is to find a decent area, bury it, and leave without placing any markers or saying any words in his memory. She can’t recall the last time things went according to the plan; it wasn’t a part of her plan to have sex with her nephew mid-duel, for instance. So, she doesn’t know why she thought this time would be any different. 

Daenerys is trying to shake a persistent merchant in the Shadow City when she senses a presence in the force. It’s not as strong as what she’s felt in the past whenever Jacaerys was near but it’s enough to pull her away from the bustling market.

Her feet carry her through the red mud streets to bricked roads, across the desert and beyond. She’s draining the last of the water in her canteen when she hears a stream and the beat of a bird’s wings. There’s a small grove up ahead, covered in white wildflowers, and a little further is a cottage with the roof caved in. 

Daenerys approaches cautiously. She can’t sense any lifeforms aside from the birds and smaller creatures. Nonetheless, she keeps her guard up. The Dornish are known for their stealth. It isn’t that she believes herself to be in danger on this planet. She just knows that this particular area isn’t fond of outsiders. After what happened to Jacaerys’s parents she doesn’t blame the locals. 

This was their home. This is where her brother carved out a piece of happiness with his Jedi, and this is where her brother and his wife were murdered. She can hear their screams, can hear Jacaerys’s cries. Daenerys blocks out the sound. She doesn’t want to experience that horrific night. 

It’s a lovely home. Well, she could tell that it used to be lovely. 

A white gate covered with ivy leaves, remnants of a garden, and a small stable in the backyard. She wants to go inside the cottage but doesn’t want to disturb the dead any more than she already has. When she peeked inside his head that first time, she saw that he enjoyed going riding with his mother so she takes his saber to the stable. 

The dirt is soft. It must’ve rained recently. She makes quick work of digging a grave deep enough to keep the saber hidden, even from nature. When it’s time for her to bury it, she hesitates. 

Is this truly the end of the Targaryen dynasty, she thinks somberly. Their ancestors escaped extinction once just to end up like this. There’s always a chance that she’ll find a decent man and through them, her family will live on. 

Daenerys scoffs quietly. 

Furthering her family line isn’t worth binding herself to someone she’d grow to despise. And even if they did somehow fall in love, she could never be herself with them, could never share every aspect of herself with them. She can never tell them that she once fucked her nephew on a dead planet. 

Of course, secrets are a natural part of any relationship but she’s hidden her true self for so many years that she doesn’t want to do that forever. 

How ironic is it that the man who knew her best was the one she hated more than anything? Another one of the universe’s cruel jokes. 

Tightening her hand around the saber, she ignites it, casting red light on her face. She doesn’t know why she felt compelled to do that. It was an urge; a need. This saber once belonged to her older brother who was said to be kind and noble; strikingly handsome as well. 

There might’ve been a time when Jacaerys had either parents’ temperament or perhaps a mixture of both. Daenerys supposes he got his eyes and curly hair from his mother, and his father’s handsome features. 

She doesn't bury the saber.

She’ll keep it with her always; she’ll keep him with her always as it should’ve been. Had things gone differently they would’ve grown up together. How better would their lives have been? At the very least they wouldn’t have been so alone for most of it. 

There's no point in her thinking about things that are out of her control. This is her reality. She has to just deal with it. 

* * *

A month of radio silence passes. 

Falling back into her routine proves difficult because for two years Jacaerys was a large part of her routine. She began to wonder what her life was without her vengeance. Was there anything she used to aspire for? Anything she wanted outside of being a dog on a leash? That's all Jedi are these days. 

Jedi are in high demand with the Resistance but there are only two left. She has no interest in supporting their cause and the other is still in hiding. 

When Daenerys realized she found the Resistance's efforts futile she worried that her momentary slip into the dark side was permanent. Aside from that negative thinking, there haven’t been any notable changes. She still cares for Missandei and Grey Worm and cherishes their late-night talks despite never gaining anything from them. If she sees someone in danger she doesn’t hesitate to save them. 

However, lately she’s noticed that she only saves them because that’s expected of her. How long has she only done things because they’re expected of her? She feels as if she hardly knows herself these days. 

One bright side is that her nights are peaceful. She doesn’t wake up screaming, she doesn’t see the faceless person anymore, and she doesn’t see Jacaerys. Sometimes the quiet drives her up the wall and she needs to go out for a walk; sometimes she joins underground boxing matches in grimey parts of the galaxy to blow off steam. 

She’s almost killed two people with her fist alone. She never knew she was capable of that. It scares her how much she enjoys it. Better to end it, she soon decides. Besides, none of her matches excite her the way her fistfight with Jacaerys did. 

Eventually, she decides she needs a change of pace and new scenery. She moves out, leaving behind nothing but empty promises to return soon. 

For a week she bounces from system to system, trying to find her place in the galaxy. She contemplates returning to Dorne. Despite the locals’ natural hostility, she thinks she could get them to warm up to her with time. It’s the only livable place where members of her family lived last, too. She needs that connection, she thinks. 

However, that thought is fleeting.

She then thinks of the Summer Isles. Missandei and Grey Worm vacationed there a few times. They seem to love it more than any place they’ve visited. She’s always wanted to go just to see what it was like. Now she has the chance. 

On the day she plans to go to the Summer Isles, Daenerys changes her course at the last minute. The decision is impulsive and foolish yet once she lands her fighter on Winterfell and breathes in the crisp, cold air, the buzz in her head clears. 

Daenerys doesn’t bother asking herself why she’s here. She’s stopped questioning her actions. She’s here because of him. This is one of the few places that he had an emotional tie to. 

Yet again she’s fortunate to be here while the weather is mild. She finds the meadow easily. As she expected, Lyanna isn’t buried alone. Beneath her epitaph, there’s a vague phrase. It implies that Rhaegar and Lyanna share the grave.

_Together always._

Daenerys kneels down and wipes moss from the base of the tombstone. She should be the one to look after their grave from now on. It’s only right. 

A chill passes through her. Shivering, she wraps her arms around herself. The hairs on the nape of her neck prickle. She hasn’t felt this sensation since...

“I had my father cremated as is the Valyrian tradition.” His voice still sounds the same; deep and low yet far-reaching. “My mother is buried in a way that honors her ancestors as well. She holds his urn. I thought it fitting for them to be together. Always.” 

Daenerys doesn’t immediately face him. She’s still stunned for starters. All this time she thought he was truly dead because there’d been no signals nor disturbances in the force, and she never felt his presence. Well, she felt something when she was in Dorne.

But of course. 

“You were there,” she says, irritated with herself for not realizing sooner. “You were there in Dorne. You lured me to the cottage.” 

“Not intentionally. When I sensed you coming, I hid my presence and watched from afar.” He’s smiling. He’s always smiling as if he has a reason to do so. “Why didn’t you bury it?” 

If she doesn’t face him she might as well admit defeat. 

Daenerys doesn’t hesitate either because he’ll notice and take that as a sign of weakness. She isn’t sure what she expected when she turned around. She only knows that this isn’t it. 

His hair seems longer now or it could be that she hasn’t seen him in a while. But his beard is definitely thicker and he’s bulkier. He probably had to go through rapid healing training. She’s heard it’s brutal. Since he was stolen by the Supreme Leader has he ever known a moment of peace?

She could be his peace. 

“I saw no point in burying it," she says. 

“You were always shit at lying, Dany.” 

True. 

Daenerys wants to start a fight. She wants any reason to be closer to him, to touch him. She left their sabers in the fighter so they’d have no choice but to use their fists. 

“Came here to kill me?” she asks, trying not to sound too eager. 

“I came here to visit my parents and you just happened to be here.” Jacaerys tilts his head. “Why are you here?” 

“My brother is buried here. I have the right to pay my respects.” As an afterthought, she adds, “And to your mother as well. She was my sister-in-law…” 

Jacaerys gives her a long hard look like he did the first time they were standing here. Except for the last time they were standing where the other is standing now.

Full circle. 

“First you went to Dorne now you’re here…” He takes a step forward. It’s then that she realizes he’s in civilian clothes yet still in black from head to toe. “What are you truly after Dany?” He takes another step and he’s right in front of her. 

The heat rolls off of him in waves, his scent is still the same, it tickles her nose like burning wood. She wants to punch him. And she wants to kiss him. It crosses her mind to do both but his gaze leaves her motionless. 

Why does she always lose herself in his eyes? She should be immune to him by now. She managed to bottle all of her attraction to him up long enough to stab him. Where is that willpower now? It’s ash. 

“Did you miss me?” he asks. 

She can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. “No. I wanted you dead yet here you are.” She’s gotten better at appearing cold. “I’m disappointed.” 

“I missed you.” He catches a string of hair that’s blowing in the wind and tucks it behind her ear. His thumb brushes her skin and she pretends not to notice. “I wanted to go to you on Dorne but I wasn’t ready to see you.” 

“Why would you miss the woman who killed you?” 

“ _Tried_ to kill me.” He clarifies. “You clearly failed. It’s cute that you thought you succeeded.” 

For some reason, she likes him best when he’s just like this. She likes him when he’s the fucking worst. 

Daenerys steps forward, leaving a breath of space between them. “I won’t make the same mistake twice, I promise you that.” 

“Words are wind, Dany.” 

In a different situation, it would’ve been comical how easily her eyes fall shut as she awaits his kiss. She was elated when she heard his voice and even more so when she saw his face. She was careless and far too trusting. That’s why when he slaps stun cuffs on her wrists and laughs at the dumbfounded expression on her face she can only be upset with herself. 

“You didn’t actually think I’d let you off that easy, did you?” he asks, smiling like the devil. “Oh, dear Aunt. You’re dumber than you look right now.” 

“Bastard!” She’s humiliated more than anything. Then again, she supposes this is how he felt when she stabbed him. “Let me go or I swear-” 

Her eyes roll into the back of her head as electrical current ripples through her. It isn’t as powerful as their force lightning but it’s strong enough to knock the wind out of her. She drops to her knees. 

“The Supreme Leader wants to see you,” he says, curling his fingers through her hair and sniffing it lightly as she coughs and gags. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting.” 

* * *

The Dark Throne used to be the seat of House Targaryen for decades. It was her ancestors who built the throne room out of obsidian stone infused with dragon glass. The throne itself is made from that very material, making the entire room look like a black hole. 

Tywin Lannister sits upon the throne now in all his dark and ominous disgracefulness, his Red Guard standing off in the shadows, waiting to protect him with their lives if need be. It is said that Tywin betrayed her family in order to steal the seat of power for himself. Other stories say that he’d always ruled, but in secret as her father’s advisor. 

None of that matters to her. 

The only thing that does matter is that this is her enemy, and it was Jacaerys who brought her here like a lamb to the slaughter. Tywin’s eyes seem to glow at the sight of her and that makes Daenerys want to hide. Not out of fear. She just doesn’t want his eyes on her at all. 

After unceremoniously dumping her at the man’s feet, Jacaerys knelt down like a beat dog. He hasn’t lifted his head since. She doesn’t like this side of him. It’s clearly for show yet still, he shouldn’t kneel at the feet of a lesser. 

“You favor your late mother, child,” Tywin says, his face hidden beneath the robes. Yet his eyes never leave her. “A woman of surpassing beauty.” 

“My mother’s death is on your hand-” 

Tywin forces her to lower her head until her forehead is touching the cold, stone floor. “Silence!” His voice roars, making the very walls of the hall tremble. “You do not speak unless permitted!” 

Daenerys tries to lift her head but it only causes her pain. Beside her, she can feel Jacaerys’s energy shift. But then the sensation is gone as quickly as it came. For a moment it felt as if his killing intent had spiked. 

Tywin continues, “You will soon learn your place here. I do not require your words. I only require your womb.” He looks away from her, at Jacaerys. “Your father was a prodigy but he failed. I fear you will eventually fail me. To secure your place in my presence do your duty.” 

Frowning, she looks at Jacaerys. “What does he mean when he says he only requires my womb?” She screams when she’s flung across the hall by a strong force push. She would've broken something had she not been quick enough to soften her fall. 

“You will have to break her in,” Tywin says to Jacaerys. “Do your duty. Produce a worthy heir for the dark side and I will reward you.” He smiles over at Daenerys who’s clutching her side as she struggles to her knees. “I may let you keep her once the babe is born if that’s what you desire.” 

“You honor me, Supreme Leader.” 

“Go now. I want her with child post-haste!” 

Daenerys fights Jacaerys all the way to his chambers, kicking, screaming, and cursing. Storm Troopers pass them. Aside from a head nod at Jacaerys, they pay them no mind. They’re afraid of him. She can smell their fear. 

During her struggle, she tries to shoot force lightning at Jacaerys but he uses the stun cuffs again.

All the world is a blur. Tears streak her face; they’re a mixture of pain and genuine disbelief. Is he really going to do as the Supreme Leader commands? 

He has to carry her over the threshold. Despite his earlier cruelty, he places her on his bed gently. Unlike the rest of the ship, his chambers are black from wall to wall, from rug to duvet. It’s bigger from the looks of it. Then again, she is having trouble telling which way is up. 

Feeling something cold and wet on her forehead she flinches. 

“Stop moving,” Jacaerys says quietly. “You’ll make it worse.” 

She stops moving, allowing him to tend to her. 

This is all a ploy, she tells herself as she watches him wet the towel and drain it. He’s going to hurt her again soon enough. She should’ve known he wouldn’t forgive her for what she did but she never thought he would go along with a plan like this. 

The Supreme Leader intends to strip her of her choice and force her to bear a force-sensitive child. She doesn’t want this. If she tells Jacaerys that will he respect her wishes? 

He continues the routine of placing it on her forehead and wetting it again for several minutes. 

“Sleep it off,” Jacaerys says once he's done. “I’ll come for you later.” 

“Jacaerys wait…” 

He touches her cheek with the back of his hand. “Sleep, Dany.” 

She sleeps. As she drifts off, she swears she feels him caressing her face. 

-o0o-

  
Two women enter the chamber after she awakes, dressed in plain white robes. They don’t speak to her. Even when she compels them to do so. They’re androids it would seem, and they’re more than likely programmed to obey orders from Tywin and Tywin alone. 

Although she wants to be stubborn and not accept the food they give her, she knows she’ll need all her strength if she intends to make it off this ship alive. She doesn’t like how they’re hovering around her, but she won’t attack them, verbally or physically, as she’s sure they’ve suffered enough while serving Tywin. Besides, they’re only doing as they’re commanded. 

Even the thought of Tywin unsettles her. Still, she finds Jacaerys more intimidating; more powerful. When he isn’t bowing like a lap dog that is. Why did that bother her so much? She always knew there was someone he answered to, but actually seeing it with her own eyes…

It shouldn’t be that way, she thinks. They’re the last of a royal bloodline. They shouldn’t kneel to a servant who usurped their birthright. 

Daenerys has to stop herself. 

She shouldn’t desire the Dark Throne. No part of her should want such a thing. Ever. She’s a Jedi and the Dark Throne is of the Sith. 

After her meal, the women lead her into the adjourning room where a black granite bathtub is filled with steaming, scented water. They try to undress her but she does it herself. She also bathes herself. They’re getting her ready for Jacaerys’s return as though he were some prince. 

No, an emperor. 

She can visualize it clearly. Jacaerys seated on the Dark Throne where he belongs. He would need an empress, however. He’s far too volatile and cruel to rule alone. He would need someone to reel him in when he goes too far. When she sees herself seated on the throne with him she puts an immediate end to the thought. 

It’s this place, she tells herself. Being here, so close to her family’s throne, is messing with her head. The Dark Throne is said to be cursed. It is said that the throne is what caused her father’s madness. Rather it is metaphorical or literal she believes there is some truth to that. Power is addicting and all-consuming. 

How many times has she used force lightning now? She’s been using a perversion of the force and each time she does it makes her feel good. 

Perhaps it’s already too late for her. Perhaps it’s time she admits to herself that she’s no longer a Jedi. The one thing that marked as such is lost to her now. She can’t sense her saber on the ship. Soon, scavengers will find her fighter on Winterfell, dismantle it, and take all of her belongings. Including her saber. She wonders if Jacaerys went back for his at least. 

After her bath, they dress her in a thin white gown that clings to her damp body and brushes her hair out until it shines. Daenerys is tempted to ignore her reflection as she passes the mirror on their way out of the bathroom, but her curiosity gets the better of her. She takes a step back and looks. 

Without her braid, she hardly recognizes herself. Her hair stops at her hips, and she never realized how beautiful it was until now. It’s like spun moonlight silk or whatever the hell that is. The gown makes her look soft and delicate. She looks like her mother more than ever now. Is this how the woman looked on her wedding night? 

Daenerys pulls a face. This isn’t her bloody wedding night nor is it a moment to be fond of. 

Annoyed with herself, she leaves the bathroom abruptly, the silent androids following behind her. In the bedroom, Jacaerys is seated at the edge of the bed, shirtless with only a pair of black pants on. At the sight of her, he stands. She notices the scar her blade left behind. It fits perfectly with the others on his body. 

“Leave us,” he says. 

The androids leave without hesitation. Perhaps they follow his orders as well. 

“Was this your sick idea?” she asks as he approaches her. “I’m not some fucking broodmare, you worthless cunt!” 

Jacaerys stops in front of her and touches the ends of her hair. “You should wear your hair like this more often.” He smiles darkly. “Better yet, I’ll make sure you keep it this way from now on since I’m your Master.” 

Daenerys slaps him so hard the corner of his mouth bleeds, and she tastes his blood when he kisses her. She holds back a moan. She isn’t supposed to want this, she reminds herself. He set her up and now he intends to force a baby on her. 

She raises her knee to hit him in the groin but he picks her up before she can. 

“Put me down!” she shouts. “I don’t want this!” 

“Keep it up,” he whispers in her ear. Then he throws her on the bed. “It doesn’t matter what you want!” he says, making a point to speak loudly this time. 

Daenerys stiffens. She looks him in the eye and sees the truth there. He doesn’t intend to rape her. But he does intend to make it seem that way. Ah, someone is eavesdropping on them. 

_Play the part_ , his eyes are telling her. 

So when he pins her hands above her head, she does scream, very loudly, and she struggles against him. But in truth, she isn’t afraid because Jacaerys’s eyes speak louder than his actions. He even lets her go at one point, allows her to slap him again and shout insults. He shouts a few back and tears at her gown, ripping the fabric at the side, all the way to her hip. 

In the midst of their faking, Daenerys finds herself enjoying it. Soon she gets aroused and it’s embarrassing because nothing should be arousing about this situation. He’s pinning her down, pressing his firm body against hers, and forcing her legs apart while she’s pretending to be distressed. In reality, she’s wet and throbbing. Jacaerys seems to be in a similar predicament. The next time he presses down on her he’s hard and his breathing is strained.

Their eyes meet and understanding passes between them. She lifts her head from the pillow as he lowers his for a kiss. 

There’s still a hint of blood on his lips. They kiss until all they taste is the other. His hand glides up her leg, slipping under the tear he made. Neither of them is surprised by how wet she is. She moans, and he bites her ear. 

“You’re not supposed to enjoy it.” He reminds her as he presses two fingers inside her roughly. She cries out and he hums. “Much better.” 

To ease her discomfort, he sucks on her neck where he knows she’s sensitive and curls his fingers inside her. As she protests and calls him every name under the bleeding sun, she rolls her hips and fucks herself on his fingers until she’s dripping and trembling. He removes his fingers and brings them up to his mouth for a taste. 

All reason is thrown out completely then.

Daenerys likes to think of herself as a level-headed individual in most situations but when it comes to Jacaerys she loses all rationale. 

She watches him lick his fingers clean then she kisses him hungrily, tasting herself on his tongue. It doesn’t cross her mind how bizarre any of this is, that yet again she’s about to fuck her nephew. She doesn’t even know when she stopped hating him. Parts of her do still hate him but she doesn’t have to love him to fuck him does she? 

Jacaerys ends the kiss, ignores her hushed whines, and moves down her body. He lifts her torn gown up to her hips, exposing her to his intense gaze. She almost closes her legs in an attempt to hide from him, but that feels immature. And she would be lying if she said she didn’t want him to see how swollen and wet she is for him. Before his lips touch even her, she’s squirming from the feel of his breath against her tender flesh. He’s drawing it out, torturing her with the suspense. 

Daenerys tugs at his hair, shoving his face closer. Chuckling, he calls her an ‘impatient bitch’ and she tells him to ‘shut the fuck up and eat’ and he does. Gods, he does it so well that her mind and body melts and she forgets that she’s supposed to hate this. Holding in her moans proves to be a difficult task. She bites her lips raw and pulls at her hair yet the moans still bubble out of her.

When she gets too loud, Jacaerys holds her by the throat while his other hand holds her leg back. Having her clit sucked at the same time she’s being choked is as mind-blowing as it is overstimulating. She cums so hard she sees stars. It’s as if she’s floating in the galaxy, her body weightless and brimming with pleasure. Then far too quickly the moment fades and she’s back in his dark bedroom. Her disappointment is as short-lived, though. 

He chokes her as he enters her and she sees stars again. For appearance's sake, she loudly tells him to stop and that she hates him. Then she mouths the words _fuck me_ and whispers how good he feels inside of her. 

“Fucking slut,” he groans in her ear. “Don’t you have any shame? Getting turned on by this...begging to be fucked by your own nephew..." 

Daenerys digs her nails in his ass, urging him to fuck her deeper. “I like you better when you don’t speak,” she moans quietly, nipping at his ear. “If you fucked me right, I wouldn't have to beg, you piece of shit." He actually is fucking her superbly but she likes to keep him humbled. 

Jacaerys fucks her harder then as if her degrading words are spurring him on. 

They’re both twisted.

Cut from the same deranged cloth. She wonders if she’s always been this way. She did make her first kill at a young age and after hours upon hours of searching she’s found no remorse over it. She killed out of anger, she killed to avenge her brother. She wanted to kill Jacaerys to avenge her friends and master. The path of vengeance and the path of the dark side go hand in hand. 

She’s been lying to herself all along. She’s no Jedi. She stopped being one the day Braavos fell. 

The realization should shatter her, collapse her mind, and send her spiraling. Instead, she curls her fingers in Jacaerys’s curls and pulls his hair as she whispers his name. She doesn’t care anymore, she tells herself. Perhaps she never really cared and has been pretending all of this time. She doesn’t know. She only knows that Jacaerys fucks just how he fights; he’s rough and gritty and passionate. 

Sitting up, he raises her hips off the mattress, angling her just right as he fucks her nice and slow. She scratches up his arms, loving how his pretty skin bleeds. She loves how his chest muscles tighten with every thrust, how the veins in his hands are prominent. She loves how he bites his lower lip with his straight, white teeth. She loves...she kind of thinks she loves him. 

Or maybe she loves how he makes her feel. 

She likes to think he loves how she makes him feel, too. There are moments when he’ll look at her as though he wants to say something along those lines. But then the look is gone and his eyes are empty. That’s fine. A grand proclamation would scare her, honestly. And this wouldn’t be so fun anymore. It’s better if they keep things as they are. 

However, she is disappointed when he spills his warm seed on her stomach rather than inside of her like he did their first time. He lays down beside her, sweating and breathing heavily. She turns on her side, watching him. 

“Why on my stomach?” she asks, keeping her voice low. 

Jacaerys stares at the door for a moment. She assumes he’s waiting for the eavesdropper to leave. Eventually, he speaks. 

“You said you didn’t want a baby forced on you.” 

“You came inside of me before.” 

“Do you have a breeding kink, Dany?” 

Daenerys frowns. “A what?” What in the hell is a kink? She doesn’t have time for his games. “Clean this off of me. It’s cold and gross now.” 

“I should make you eat it,” he says. But he gets out of bed anyway to fetch a towel. 

When he returns, she moves to her back and lets him clean her stomach. “What will happen if a week or two passes and I’m not with child?” She doesn’t understand why she cares so much all of a sudden. Earlier she was prepared to escape this place. 

“He won’t be around that long,” he says. “I have to go report to him that the deed is done. I’ll come back tomorrow.” 

Daenerys sits up. “Tomorrow?” 

“Did you expect me to stay and cuddle with you?” he chuckles. “I have work to do.” His expression falls, becoming serious. “I need you to trust me from here on out.” 

“Trust you?” she asks incredulously. 

Jacaerys points to the scar she gave him and says nothing. The gesture says enough. 

“For all I know you’re setting me up as a way to get revenge for that,” she says stubbornly. 

“If I wanted you dead, I would’ve killed you in Dorne.” 

“What do you want from me then?” 

He cups the back of her head gently. “Right now I want you to be a good little girl and do as I say,” he says in a voice that would probably make a lesser person weak in the knees. 

She slaps his hand away and he laughs. For now, she won’t address how being called ‘little girl’ by him doesn’t annoy her as much as she puts on. That’s something new for them to explore later on she supposes. 

“Seriously, Dany, you won’t have to endure this for long. I’m going to take care of it.” 

Daenerys knows now is hardly the time but she’s curious to know what she is to him. Is she still his ‘little mouse’ for him to toy with as he pleases or is she a possible ally in his mission to overthrow Tywin. She won’t settle for anything less than the latter. 

As if he can read her mind, he kisses her. “Be patient," he whispers against her lips. "I'll return as soon as I can." 

Daenerys lets him leave. She doesn’t know why she’s putting her trust in him. She supposes it's the same reason why he's able to trust her after what she did. 

* * *

To heal his body Jacaerys had to strengthen his body through rigorous training, ice baths, and the Supreme Leader’s special kind of training that he devised just for him. During that time, he had a lot to contemplate. 

A majority of his thoughts were filled with Daenerys. He fantasized about killing every night for the first week but even then the fantasy would end with him fucking her on some sturdy surface; once they fucked on a cloud when he was having a fever dream. He alternated a lot between wanting her dead and wanting her next to him. Eventually, he grew tired of the conflicting thoughts and focused on what made her so damn important to him. 

It isn’t her looks. He’s seen prettier women, even men. Her body is something to admire and write songs about and maybe even commission art in her liking but with the lights off all bodies can be beautiful. She isn’t particularly interesting; she has no hobbies, no talents. 

Gods, she doesn’t really have a lot going for herself, does she? And neither does he. 

During the second week, he turned over those thoughts and picked them apart until his opinion gradually changed.

Daenerys isn’t pretty, she’s gorgeous, breathtaking. That night at the casino he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even without all the glam, she’s stunning. She’s also interesting, though, not in the way most people are. She’s intelligent, resourceful, and far from an airhead. 

Jacaerys hates airheads, and he hates anyone who holds him back the way Sam used to. But Daenerys isn’t dead weight. She’s also dropped the self-righteous act so that makes her more likable. 

For the duration of his healing process, he thought of Daenerys in a new light, one untainted by her deceit or their past clashes. Slowly, he began to understand that he’s drawn to her the same way she’s drawn to him. It's in their blood. 

Then he saw her on Dorne at his old home. He wasn’t lying when he told her that he wanted to go to her then but at that time he wasn’t sure of himself. 

With time, he decided he wanted to rule the galaxy with her. They can bring about a new era together. That's how it should be. 

However, if she declines his offer, he’ll kill her. 

As much as he doesn’t want her dead he also doesn’t want her to end up with someone else. Her place is here with him, with her family; and vice versa. 

Of course, he knows that’s a fucked up way of thinking but he’s a fucked up individual. That’s why he killed Daario. It took him a while to realize that. He killed Daario because the man touched someone that didn’t belong to him. And he couldn't let the insult slip. No, Daario had no idea and at the time neither did Jacaerys but that changes nothing. Some people just have shitty luck. 

When he goes to see her later his gloves are bloody and he smells of death. He wiped out an entire village on some random planet today. They were supporting the Resistance by supplying them with food and other resources. Their blood is on the General’s hands. After he’s sent so many bodies to her doorstep one would think she’d surrender already. These people are dying because of her stubbornness but no one calls her a monster. 

Daenerys is pacing the floor anxiously. He knew she’d hate being held up in this dismal room, doing nothing for hours on end. She has a complaint on the tip of her tongue but he shuts her up with a kiss. Quickly, he removes his soiled gloves and lets them fall to the floor then he picks up her. 

He fucks her against the nearest wall. She’s always so damn tight, and wet, and needy, _so_ needy. She bucks her hips against him frantically, riding his cock in such a way that makes him wonder who’s fucking who. Gripping her ass tightly, he pulls her off the wall, depriving her of a surface to cling to so that she’ll only have him to depend on. 

She wraps her arms around his neck in a near suffocating manner, her nails digging into his shoulders like claws. If he were naked he’d be bleeding by now. They always fuck as if they were fighting each other. This is what they’re used to, though. 

He carries her to the bed and fucks her on the edge of it, her round breasts bouncing. Cupping them in his hands, he squeezes, and teases her nipples. She tightens around him and instinctively his balls tighten. Cursing harshly, he moves to pull out. 

Damn his sneaky aunt, however. She holds his hips in place with her thighs and wraps her legs around him so that he’ll release inside of her instead. He doesn’t resist her. He can’t. He doesn’t want to. 

“You do have a breeding kink then,” he says, still inside of her, still riding the wave of his release. 

Daenerys stops rubbing her stomach. It looks as if she didn’t realize she was even doing it. “Are you implying that I like the idea of being pregnant?” 

“Not exactly. But you are aware that you may end up pregnant now, right?” 

“Nothing happened the first time. I doubt I can even get pregnant.” 

Jacaerys hears the hidden sadness in her words. He wants to ignore it because he has no interest in having children now or ever. But for some reason, this is important to Daenerys so he supposes it's important to him. Since when did she care about babies? The only thing she used to care about was her revenge. Is this just another distraction? 

“Do you want a baby with me, Dany?” he asks without any tact whatsoever. He prefers things to be straightforward anyway. “I’m not the kind of man you want to raise a kid with.” 

“I don’t want a child at all. At least I don’t think so.” 

“You want stability then? And you think a child will give you that.” 

Daenerys blinks up at him and smiles. “I forgot you knew all my thoughts.” She touches her stomach again, her expression thoughtful. "I'm not ready for a baby. I do like it when you cum inside of me, though. Is that strange?" 

He fucks her again.

How could he not after she admits something like that? Daenerys has a habit of clenching her walls around him and it drives him mad, makes him want to spend the rest of his days inside of her. He makes her beg for his cum. As proud and strong as she is, she begs and whines for it like a good little slut. Then in the same breath, she calls him a sack of shit and marks his back with scratches. She's so effortlessly sexy. She's perfect. She's _his_. 

"Please," she begs, rolling her hips and squeezing her thighs. "Please..." 

Gritting his teeth, he slams into her. "I'll give you so much...so much that you'll be sick for days..." He holds her with bruising force as he releases inside of her, making sure a drop isn't spilled. 

She's practically purring. She's so happy and content with having her stomach full of his seed. He's never been into this sort of thing but now it's all he can think about. Like a sickness, she's invading his mind and body. The idea of children used to disgust him; why would he want to bring life into this corrupted world? But with Danerys he's beginning to think differently. They could continue their family line, they could give their kids what they never had. 

That will have to come later, however. He won't allow his children to live in this world as it is now. They have to fix it first. 

"Will you stay tonight?" she asks, putting her fingers in his hair. 

He planned to leave afterward. Cuddling makes him feel strange and overly exposed. And he's never shared his bed with anyone. After sex, he leaves before falling asleep. It's easier that way. But Daenerys is different. He knows she also prefers to sleep alone and yet she wants him to stay. 

"Yeah," he says, burying his face in her hair. 

He falls asleep that way. 

* * *

“You’ve had more than enough time to plant your seed,” the Supreme Leader says from his seat on the Dark Throne. 

A little more than a week has passed. Jacaerys doesn’t know if a pregnancy can be detected this soon even by a medical droid but then again he’s not very keen on pregnancy business as a whole. Although he’s well versed in the activity that can lead to a pregnancy. He and Daenerys have been engaging in that activity nightly. But she hasn’t shown any signs of pregnancy to his knowledge. 

Every time he goes to see her one of them will jump the other. As of late, she’s been doing the jumping. Probably because she’s bored out of her mind. As someone who hates to feel caged, he sympathizes with her. Still, it’s not time yet. 

“I’ve done my best to make it so, Supreme Leader,” he says mechanically. 

Tywin waves his hand. “And we both know that your best is hardly ever good enough. I will see for myself.” 

Funny, when Daenerys talks down to him it makes his dick hard. When Tywin does it he comes up with another creative way to kill the man. One of the silent servants ushers Daenerys into the throne room. They’ve dressed her in a black, loose dress with a thin, crepe cape hanging from silver rings on her shoulders. 

Black suits her, he thinks. 

“Strip her,” Tywin says, “so that I may see her better.” 

Jacaerys stiffens. 

He looks at Tywin then at the servant who’s reaching for the ring at Daenerys’s shoulder. As expected, she resists the servant’s advances. Then Tywin makes her kneel and forces her hands behind her back with only a tap of his finger. 

“If I may,” Jacaerys starts cautiously. If he steps out of line, his plans will go to shit. He almost slipped up when he first brought Daenerys here and Tywin attacked her. He can’t make that mistake again. “You’d know for certain if she’s with child with the assistance of a medical-” 

Clawing at his neck, he chokes on his words. It feels as if invisible hands are squeezing his lungs with an iron grip. 

“Silence,” Tywin says. He looks to the servant. “What are you waiting for? Strip her!” 

Jacaerys drops to his knees, wheezing and coughing. He hears Daenerys’s screams of protest and it makes his gut twist. Fuck it. To hell with this, he thinks. How can he save the galaxy if he can’t even protect the one person who truly matters to him? 

If he contemplates his actions, Tywin will sense his intent. So, he doesn’t think of a clever plan or a strategy. He simply taps into the bottomless well of hatred inside of him and sends a force of lightning toward the man using both hands. It connects instantly, frying Tywin in his seat. He screams and writhes, his eyes rolled white and bulging. Out of fear, the servant rushes out of the throne room. 

The Red Guard emerges from the shadows, running toward him. There are six in total, each skilled and experienced. If he lets up on Tywin, even a little, he’ll lose the advantage. Feeling a powerful shift in the air, Jacaerys smiles to himself.

How could he forget his trump card? 

Daenerys intercepts the Red Guard before they can reach him, shoving them back with a force push that sends them flying across the great hall. He gestures his head toward the saber at his hip and she takes it without hesitation, igniting it. 

“You didn’t bother retrieving mine, did you?” she asks, bracing herself for the guards' next attack, wielding _his_ saber. 

“What do you need with that saber anyway? You’re not a Jedi anymore.” 

She hears him loud and clear but pretends otherwise. 

Tywin is foaming at the mouth now. Jacaerys decides that’s enough. Still, he doesn’t take any chances. He keeps the lightning going as he approaches the throne for Tywin’s saber. When he’s close enough, he stops the lightning. Tywin is saying something but he’s speaking too softly for him to hear. The man could be sharing secrets to immortality for all Jacaerys knows. 

But he takes the saber from the man's hip and decapitates him with it. The head rolls down the stairs and Jacaerys follows behind it to join Daenerys’s side. 

She’s killed one guard so far but three more are closing in on her while two are making their way toward him. Jacaerys force pulls one of them toward him and when they’re close enough he disembowels them, searing their guts. The other guard does an elaborate front flip toward him and swipes at him with his long spear once he’s upright again. 

He fucking hates show offs. 

The next time they flip, he slices one of their legs off and leaves them there, clutching their knee and screaming. He’ll let them suffer longer before killing them. 

Daenerys has taken out another guard already. He always told her that she was strongest when she stopped holding back. 

They face the last two together. It’s strange having someone guard his back and vice versa. He’s always fought alone. He only brings the troopers with him to clean up his messes and take care of anyone who might’ve slipped away during the carnage. But Daenerys isn’t his subordinate. She isn’t less than him.

Their power is equal. 

Even their fighting styles compliment the other. When she evades an attack, he’s there to cover her while she regains her footing. And when one of his attacks doesn't hit the mark, she hits it for him. The guards flip all over the place as if this was some sort of flexibility competition, and he can tell that Daenerys also finds the flamboyant display aggravating. 

At one point, she gets so irritated that she electrocutes her opponent just enough to slow them down then she slices through their torso, separating the top of their body from the bottom. She doesn’t even blink either. 

Jacaerys has never been more aroused by her than he is now. 

Although he doesn’t need the help, she helps him finish off the last one. They dispatch him quickly. She brings them to their knees and he decapitates them with one clean swipe. 

“Is that all?” she asks breathlessly. She sounds disappointed. 

“I left one to wallow in misery.” 

Daenerys finds that one and ends him. She looks at Tywin’s head. “You could’ve killed him at any moment. You were always stronger than him. Why did it take this long?” 

“Killing Tywin is only half of it,” he says. “I was gathering supporters within the First Order to help me snuff out all of his loyalists.” 

“Will they follow a dead man?” 

“Your father’s loyalists were the ones who sheltered you and your family when you were on the run.”

Tywin has sons, he has a family that can continue his work for him. His loyalists will want to support their claim to the throne. 

He’s glad that he doesn’t have to fully break it all down to her. She catches on quickly and fills in the rest herself. She’s exactly who he needs with him. Now is his chance to make the offer. With Tywin dead the throne is his— _theirs_. He’ll rule without her but he’d rather not. 

Daenerys approaches the throne. She pushes the headless corpse out of the way so that she may see it better. He walks up the stairs watching her closely. 

“This is the only thing left of my family,” she says, smiling sadly. “Besides you, that is.” 

“Dany, it’s not too late for us to have back what was stolen from us.” He glances down at his hand, at his gloved hand. He removes his glove. This is his way of expressing vulnerability like when he used to remove his mask for her. He offers his hand. “Be with me. Be my Empress." His eyes express more than his words ever could. "Rule with me." _Please._

He assumed his request would startle her, frighten her at the very least. Truthfully, he assumed a lot of things about this moment whenever he imagined it. That they would be bruised from another fight between them, that she’d be freshly fucked and flushed like that day on Valyria. 

Instead, she’s in all black like him, looking regal and windblown. She isn’t afraid or even surprised. Somehow, he knows her answers before she says it. 

Daenerys takes his hand. 

Despite all of her training and fighting, her hand is still delicate and small yet it fits into his perfectly. He kisses her right there, in the room built by their ancestors, surrounded by corpses and death. They could be heading toward the sun and he wouldn’t notice anything but her sweet lips. 

They'll do away with the Jedi and the Sith once and for all, kill Tywin's loyalists and even his family if need be, crush the Resistance, and rebuild the galaxy.

They'll achieve all that together. 

“You want to do it here?” he asks, raising his eyebrow at her. 

She presses him down on the throne and straddles him, hiking her dress up just enough. “It’s not like they’ll notice,” she jokes. 

Jacaerys lets out a genuine, hearty laugh. “I suppose you’re right.” He removes his other glove with his teeth while he palms her breast with his other hand. “Not only are you a disgraceful slut but you’re a morbid one too.” 

“Talk, talk, talk,” she whispers, unzipping his pants and cupping his cock. He’s already hard and throbbing. “That’s all you do. Shut up and fuck me, Jacaerys.” 

He obliges. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That concludes Duel of the Fates! (Eventually, they'll have kids and continue the Targaryen line so yay!) 
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading!


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